Newlydeads
by Fiver
Summary: AU. In a world where 'zombies' have become commonplace, Bakura Touzoku is just another breather doing his best to avoid the living-impaired. But then he meets Malik, who isn't taking death lying down. Who needs a beating heart, anyway? Thiefshipping
1. Chapter 1

_**Ok, so this was inspired by the 'Generation Dead' series by Daniel Waters. By which I mean I have completely ripped off the 'Generation Dead' series by Daniel Waters. But the idea was just too tempting.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh or Generation Dead. **_

_**Oh, and this one's for **__**Lady Blackwell**__**: die-hard thiefshipper and now my awesome beta (:**_

_**Newlydeads**_

_**Chapter 1 **_

**'_Have you heard the news that you're dead?' – 'Dead!', My Chemical Romance_**

_It was getting dark._

_Bakura lay on his bed with his arms folded behind his head, staring blankly at the little patch of grey sky he could see through the nearby window. With every passing moment, the grey became steelier and more saturated with night-time blue as the last of the sunlight was swallowed up. Fat, heavy drops of rain plopped against the glass, driven by a wind that had picked up in the late afternoon and was only going to get stronger through the night... _

_And so on. Bakura hardly noticed. He didn't care. The ticking of the clock on his bedside table informed him that time was indeed going by as normal, but he didn't feel it. Couldn't. He was frozen. Stuck on pause. Trapped in that __**moment **__that played over and over again in his head, like a horrible song stuck on repeat-_

_**(Ryou waves. Amane pulls a face. Yeah bye brat see you later.**_

_**They drive off Ryou still waving smiling waving yeah yeah miss you already I'll see you at school tomorrow idiot...**_

_**Man his mom's a shit driver-**_

_**BEEEEEEEEEP **_

_**-what the fuck is that-?**_

_**Tyres screech someone screams brake brake brake-! **_

_**Too late (oh God oh God) **_

_**metal hits metal. metal hits glass. glass and metal hit skin flesh bone **_

_**Again. Smash crash crunch- Stop. Nothing more. Glass on the road. No movement, no sign of...life-?**_

_**Ryou. Ryou? **__**Ryou-!**__**)**_

_Bakura shut his eyes, feeling sick. He didn't think he'd ever sleep again without seeing that scene. Seeing it, feeling it, living it. (Ryou dying it.)_

_His chest hurt. The rest of him was numb. And dead. No, not dead. __**Ryou **__was dead. Oh God, Ryou was dead._

_The skin around Bakura's eyes wrinkled as he scrunched his eyelids together too tightly. He realised this was the first time he'd allowed those three words to penetrate his consciousness. __**Ryou was dead. **__The phrase had a harsh, irrefutable quality to it that hit him like a punch to the gut._

_It shouldn't shock him so much. He knew, of course he did. He'd known from the moment he'd torn up that street like a hellhound to reach the car, the moment he'd seen the silent family inside the wreckage – the mother crushed by the other car that had slammed into her side, Amane lying strewn awkwardly across the back seat as if she'd been bounced there (she had), and Ryou, oh God Ryou, sitting there seat-belted in, eyes half-open but not seeing, perfect and un-maimed but not there anymore, gone gone __**gone**__-_

_Blackout._

_He still couldn't escape those few fatal moments. How long ago was it now? A week? More...?_

_The funeral was tomorrow. One big service. Three coffins. Goodbye._

_Bakura wondered if he'd be able to cry. He hadn't managed it thus far. It had all just been so __sudden__**, **__a crazy whirlwind set in motion by a few cars going too fast and stopping too suddenly and too late. There had been too many people hugging him and saying how sorry they were and sobbing on his shoulder – there had been no time for him to be sad. Just stunned. As if he'd taken an unexpected slap to the face and the pain just hadn't registered yet._

_...Damn, that rain sure was loud._

_His forehead creased into a slight frown. Behind the rush of the falling raindrops, he could hear something else – something slower, more purposeful and gradually getting louder._

_Tap. Tap. __**Tap. Tap-tap-**_

_His eyes shot open._

_There were hands at his window._

_Small white hands tapping at the glass. Weakly, unsteadily, but incessantly. _

_Hands._

_Bakura didn't scream. (Not because he was so damn brave – just because he couldn't.) In an instant he was on his feet, surprised that his leaden body could move so fast. It didn't even occur to him to call for his parents. Shock and panic made him stupid._

"_What the hell...?" he growled, trying to find courage in irritation, hauling the window open and leaning out. He looked down and found those hands attached to skinny black-clad arms and a skinny black-clad body and a face, dark eyes staring from a white face-_

_**Bleeeep transmission lost white noise white noise world gone world spinning no no- black. why black? why bury him in black-?**_

"_Ryou?" Bakura choked out. _

_He stared and blinked a few times, hoping with every blink that the illusion would dissipate. It didn't. It looked so __real__, Ryou crouched on the grass outside his room, Ryou in a black suit, looking ready for a funeral...yeah, __**his **__funeral! __**His funeral-!**_

_The white shirt was soaked and stained, as if he'd fallen. His hair clung wetly to his head and face. His face. It was white_

_no, grey-white _

_no, blue-white _

_no, no, __**dead**__-white, and streaked with water. Rain or tears...?_

_Bakura couldn't breathe. Ryou not Ryou made a strange whimpering sound. His arms were still outstretched towards the window, no longer to knock but as if pleading for something – help, mercy, an embrace-_

"_Ba...kura..." he started in a terrible, strangled voice. Moving his mouth looked like a painful, concerted effort, as did forcing out any kind of sound._

"_No," Bakura blurted out, recoiling. Those hands still reached out to him, trembling with effort._

"_Ple...Kura..." Ryou (__**not**__ Ryou, not Ryou!) croaked. A few unsuccessful spasms of his mouth suggested there was a lot more he wanted to say._

"_You're dead!" Bakura shouted, backing away from the window, "This is crazy, you're dead...!"_

_Ryou's face (not his face) was completely expressionless, his eyes glassy – for a moment Bakura thought he saw fear and misery in their depths, but then they were empty again and he wondered if it had been a reflection of his own horrified face._

"_Dead," he repeated steadfastly, trying to force the tremor from his voice._

_Ryou gave a small, jerky nod._

_Vomit burned at the back of Bakura's throat._

_He slammed the window shut._

_

* * *

_

Bakura woke with his mouth open, as if about to scream. He immediately clamped his lips together, hoping he hadn't cried out in his sleep. Even if that old dream merited a shriek or two.

He rolled over with a groan, blinking against the muted sunlight permeating the curtains. When his eyes focused, the first thing he saw was a sheet of newspaper tacked to the edge of his bedside table. The article about the accident. Illustration and all.

He closed his eyes again tiredly, allowing the depressingly familiar wave of grief and disappointment to wash over him. Some mornings, when he woke from that nightmare, he would briefly wonder if the _whole thing _had just been one big bad dream – maybe he could go over to Ryou's house and he'd be sitting on the porch waiting, maybe he'd get up and run over to him and smile and whine about him being late as always-?

Anyway. The old newspaper refuted that little fantasy. Ryou was dead. A lot had changed in the past year, but that much remained a cold, unyielding constant.

Other mornings he'd open his eyes and wonder if the world had gone back to normal – sometimes he could almost _convince _himself that the latter part of his dream (the part where it descended into some kind of deleted scene from _Dawn of the Dead_) really had been _just a dream. _He could build it all up in his head. He'd see himself getting up and making a dash for the Domino Cemetery, and there would be a white marble gravestone with Ryou's name on it, and he could mourn and move on like he had a right to-

But then an irritating, smooth-sounding voice in his mind would tell him that was bullshit too. _Wake up and get with the fucking program, Bakura, _it would sigh contemptuously, _Ok, Ryou's dead, you got that part. But, as your subconscious so kindly reminds you every night, he __**came back. **__And if you don't believe me, you'll be seeing him soon enough-_

His alarm beeped. A sound smack shut it up, and he reluctantly dragged himself from bed and went about getting ready.

Ryou hadn't been the first teenager who refused to stay dead – far from it. He and Bakura had discussed the so-called 'zombie phenomenon' with morbid fascination when he'd been alive, which seemed the height of irony now. As supernatural phenomena went, the reanimation of the teenaged dead was pretty hard to ignore, and it sure beat the face of Christ materialising on some poor sap's morning toast. To the two of them, who had secretly swapped Disney for George A. Romero movies when they were about ten, it had seemed like the greatest and most impossibly exciting thing that could ever happen in their world. They had talked about it for _hours, _and played an incredible amount of _Resident Evil _as 'practice'.

Back then, there had been something deliciously Gothic about the stories of recently deceased kids getting up from mortuary slabs or waking up half-way through their own post-mortems, and all the surrounding media controversy (_is this a miracle? Is it a sign of the apocalypse?_) had only made it seem more attractive. After all, it had just been _stories. _Just the latest thing everyone tuned into the news for. (And God, the media never stopped lapping it up, there was always _plenty _of new material to ogle at. Almost every night – solemn-faced reporters delivering the latest statistics, scientists optimistically spouting the newest fad theory behind how it was happening, and over-excited people who'd found religion and figured they knew everything about it screaming that it was an _abomination _that had to be _purged._) He and Ryou had known it was _real, _of course they had, but it had seemed _distant. _Like a war being fought in another country. Easy to forget about when you had something else to do. Normal kids like them had lives to lead – they didn't die. And they most certainly didn't come back.

Bakura sighed to himself as he pulled on a pair of dark jeans, a black t-shirt and a pair of scuffed grey high-tops. Other people seemed to have a habit of sprucing themselves up for the first day of a new school year, but Bakura was a believer in starting as he meant to continue.

He remembered when the first dead kid had shown up at their school. (The first of what had now become many, with more seeming to pop up all the time.) Junior high, seventh grade. Some girl in the year above them who'd accidentally eaten a cereal bar containing peanuts, to which she'd been deadly allergic. The school had held a cutesy memorial service for her, then the next day she'd turned up for classes. Cue lots of screaming.

Ryou's attitude had changed that day. All of a sudden it hadn't been funny or exciting anymore.

Bakura hauled his backpack out from the back of his wardrobe where it had lain unused all summer, and his face was set in a definite glower as he packed it with the things he needed. The day hadn't even started yet and he was already in a hideously bad mood, without really being able to pinpoint exactly why. Maybe it had been the dream (_the memory, _his traitorous mind corrected), which hadn't hounded him as much over the summer. Or maybe it was just the prospect of school, which hadn't been massively appealing to him even before he'd had to start sharing classroom space with the walking dead.

After shovelling a few spoonfuls of cereal down his throat, he shouldered his backpack and left the house without a word or a backward glance. Not that either would have been necessary – both his parents would have left for work almost an hour ago now. Such dedication. Not to mention the fact that they were totally at a loss as to how to communicate with or relate to their teenage son, who just hadn't been quite the same ever since that friend of his died.

Bakura cast a wistful glance at his father's old and generally unused car sitting in the driveway as he passed. He quickly shook his head and moved on to wait at the nearby bus stop. He'd just started learning to drive when Ryou died. Needless to say, he didn't drive much these days.

The bus pulled up after a few minutes, full of chattering kids who looked a lot more optimistic about the new term than he did. Bakura boarded with a heavy feeling in his chest, because he knew the sight that would greet him. He hadn't needed to deal with this for the whole damn blissful summer, but now it would be his daily knee to the groin again. He felt sick. He tried to keep his eyes trained on the floor but he knew he would look up, he always looked up – was it hope or guilt or...?

His eyes flicked up, briefly, awkwardly, like they always did. It really was a bad habit. It only made things harder.

Ryou sat with the other dead students, on one of the front-most seats right behind the driver. As usual, he didn't return Bakura's momentary look – Bakura was never sure if the other boy was ignoring him, unaware of his eyes on him or simply unable to move his head quickly enough to catch his eye. The blank, expressionless gaze of the undead made it impossible to tell what they were feeling.

The cursory glance told Bakura all he needed to know and more. Ryou's appearance hadn't changed at all over the summer months. His skin, always porcelain-pale in life, was still its now-customary ghoulish white, completely unblemished and more than a little unnerving. Ryou had never tanned well, but had usually gone rather red after any time in the sun. Bakura supposed zombie-skin was impervious to UV-rays. Or Ryou simply hadn't been outside all summer. His white hair hung limply around his peaked face, and his large brown eyes (those eyes that used to sparkle, Bakura remembered) were listless and vacant, seeming hardly aware of their surroundings. He wasn't smiling. He never smiled any more. Bakura was starting to forget what his smile looked like. He had photos, but looking at them was like drinking poison, and it wasn't enough anyway – Ryou's smile had always been animated and bright and _alive_**-**

Alive. Dead now.

Bakura moved on quickly, hands clenched into tight fists. He couldn't believe that after almost a year, it still hurt so much just to see him.

They hadn't spoken since that night before the funeral (which had gone ahead with two coffins instead of three and Ryou's father refusing to explain where his dead son was). Bakura just didn't know what to say. He'd seen his friend die, and even after he'd got to grips with the fact that Ryou had come back, he still had the uneasy feeling that he hadn't come back _the same._

And as for Ryou...it seemed that he just didn't speak. Period.

At the back of the bus, Bakura found Jounouchi, Honda and Ushio and slumped down beside them without a word of greeting. They in turn acknowledged his arrival with nothing more than a grunt or two in his general direction. Although most people grouped the four of them together as 'friends', Bakura found that he had very little to say to them. They didn't seem to have a whole lot to say to him either, but he suspected that had more to do with their general lack of conversational ability than any sort of hostility. He was the one with the hostility. He didn't give one single ounce of stale shit about what they'd done during the summer – if Jou had finally passed his driving test or how many ten year-olds' jaws Ushio had broken or if Honda had actually managed to get laid. There was absolutely nothing that they could say to him that would capture his interest. They were thugs and they bored him. Harsh but true.

"Woah. You look ready for a funeral or something, Bakura," Jounouchi remarked suddenly, raising his head and eyeing his dark-coloured clothing.

"Every day's a funeral around here," Bakura replied dully, turning away to look out the nearest window before this escalated into any sort of conversation.

Things used to be different. Better. Back when Ryou was alive, of course. Middle school and even the start of high school had been just peachy for their little gang, which no longer existed, regrettably. Jou had been one of them – but he'd been different, too. He'd been, at most, a wannabe tough-guy – kind of loud and tawdry, but fun to be around, soft-hearted and fiercely loyal to his friends. Honda had been more of a hanger-on back then, absent often enough for Bakura to tolerate his occasional presence without complaint. Then there had been Yuugi. Such a sweet kid. A little wimpy maybe, but Bakura had never disliked the diminutive teen, though the two of them hadn't been the closest out of the group. Glancing around now, his eyes found Yuugi sitting about half-way down the bus, next to Anzu Mazaki and surrounded by her gaggle of gushing female friends.

_Aw, Yuugi. Look what we've been reduced to, _Bakura thought, lips twitching into a wry smirk as he wondered which one of them had ended up with the worst deal.

And there had been Ryou, of course. Bakura hadn't been aware of it at all at the time, but it seemed glaringly obvious now that Ryou (always smiling, always forgiving, always _there_) had been the central pillar holding their little group together. Everything had changed with surprising speed after his death. Yuugi had simply vanished from Bakura's social circle – he supposed the smaller boy had had more in common with Ryou than with the rest of them, and so hadn't felt like one of the gang after he'd gone. And then while Bakura had been drifting dazedly through the first few weeks following the accident, Honda had latched onto the shell-shocked Jounouchi, dragged him down to his insipid level, and now the two of them were pretty much insufferable. Then there was Ushio. Bakura cast a brief look over at the great hulking brute sitting hunched up in the corner. He wasn't entirely sure when Ushio had popped up, or why he'd been allowed to ingratiate himself into their already-dysfunctional circle. After all, he was an asshole. Always had been.

Quite simply, they stayed together now out of basic need. To be alone at high school was to be a walking target, something none of them greatly desired. And so they kept up a united front. They were 'friends'. They just didn't really like each other very much.

The bus stuttered to an unsteady halt outside the gates of Domino High. The chatter of the students intensified, intermingled with loudly-voiced complaints about being there already. Unlike Bakura, some of them actually wanted more time on the bus to just talk with their friends and not have to worry about the reality of a new school year. Everyone reluctantly got to their feet in roughly the same moment and started to filter into the aisle. The bus doors whooshed open and they all pushed forward in anticipation of escaping the inevitable crush – but there was no movement. Bakura, finding himself squashed uncomfortably between the people in front and behind him, craned his neck to try and determine the cause of the hold-up. Though he really should have guessed.

"Damn dead-heads," Jounouchi muttered from somewhere to his left, "Holding up the whole frigging world..."

Bakura didn't comment. He lowered his gaze and let the impatient crowd swallow him up again, because he didn't want to watch the dead teenagers from the front of the bus making their slow, faltering way out of their seats and down the few steps to the outside world. It was too pitiful a sight. Especially if you'd known one of them when he was alive, when he could walk and run and laugh and do lopsided hand-stands-

He wondered how Jou could be so callous about them. He'd known Ryou too. But then, Jou had always had a strange, almost zealous repulsion for the zombies, even when it had been nothing but stories to them.

"Goddamn...will you worm-burgers hurry the hell up?" Honda called irritably. Bakura didn't have the energy or will to reprimand him for being a total jackass. However, someone else did.

"Leave them alone," ordered a small but fierce voice. Peering further down the aisle, Bakura found the voice had come from an equally small (but currently fierce-looking) person – Yuugi. Luckily for him, Honda didn't hear him – otherwise the short teen would probably have been the first of the new term to visit the nurse's office. Bakura heard, though. A feeling of sickening inadequacy burned in his stomach.

His eyes wandered past Yuugi just in time to see Ryou being helped off the bus by another (and presumably more mobile) zombie. Bakura couldn't remember his name. He hadn't attended Domino High when he'd been alive. Therefore, Bakura had never spoken to him. All he knew was that he bore an unusual resemblance to Yuugi – except paler. And more dead.

At length everyone did make it off the bus and into the school building (at which point everyone started to wonder why they'd been so eager to get off the bus in the first place). Bakura couldn't help but notice that, even though the dead kids had been the first ones on the pavement, they were still the last to reach the school itself. He knew they were slower than the living (faster than they _should _be though – they were supposed to be as still as...as death?) but he wondered (occasionally) if they hung back a little further on purpose, to avoid close contact with the beating hearts they knew feared and hated them.

Sighing irritably to himself, he used the surging, disorganised crowd as an excuse to lose his three 'friends' and headed as quickly as he could to home-room. Once that little formality was over, he glanced over his new timetable with a somewhat displeased frown. Chemistry first thing on a Monday morning. Brilliant. He was sure the teacher was as thrilled as he was – they were going to have a regular class full of half-sleeping teenagers who would want to devote the small amount of brain power they had at such a time to catching up with the friends they hadn't seen over the weekend.

The noise that greeted him when he entered the science lab seemed to prove his hypothesis. The glaring majority of his new classmates were grouped together in clusters of varying sizes, chatting animatedly and no doubt trying to out-awesome each other in summer vacation stories. There was one bench at which two people were sitting quietly. Seto Kaiba, reading a book and ignoring the world as per usual. And a boy Bakura didn't recognise, who appeared to still be half-asleep, if the way he was staring blankly at the table-top was any indication. Bakura flopped wordlessly onto the stool at the end of the bench, kicking his bag safely underneath. Neither Kaiba nor the stranger batted as much as an eyelid at his arrival.

Shortly afterwards the teacher arrived (looking harassed as Bakura had predicted) and barked at everyone to sit down. The order was obeyed, and the chatter died down to a certain extent. The teacher wasted no time getting started and began firing out workbooks and scrawling complicated-looking things on the white-board. Bakura found that, after months of near-complete mental inactivity, it was almost impossible to pay any attention to what the man was saying, never mind take any of it in. He let his eyes wander from the front of the room, seeking something they could latch onto and observe without really having to think too hard. He eventually settled on his neighbour: the boy he didn't know and, up until right about now, had had absolutely no interest in. The more Bakura looked at him, however, the more he was convinced that he was a transfer student. He wasn't terribly familiar with many of his classmates, but when he looked at them – almost _any _of them – he would at least have an _awareness_ that he did indeed see them in passing almost every day, or maybe sat next to them in some class he didn't care about. He couldn't place this boy, however. There was _something _oddly familiar about him, but not in a classroom-context. He was new. Had to be. Someone that distinctive-looking would have stuck in his memory at least a little.

The boy had burnished-bronze skin (and plenty of it on show, thanks to a sleeveless, midriff-skimming hoodie) which spoke of either exotic heritage or a recent long vacation in the baking sun. His hair (not ridiculously long, but long enough to hang in his eyes and shroud round his face) was surprisingly blonde for one with such a dark complexion, and on his neck and arms a gold choker and a set of matching cuffs glittered harshly. Such eye-catching accessories suggested a vivacious and outgoing individual, but the boy sat in a silence that somehow seemed more noticeable and intense than anyone else's – his hands were clasped limply in his lap and he was still gazing unseeingly at the bench in front of him, unmoving, unblinking-

A stopper seemed to lodge itself in Bakura's windpipe for a moment.

_Unblinking_. Completely unblinking.

He was never one to jump to conclusions, but all of a sudden he knew, he just _knew._

This boy was dead.

_Shit great another dead-head I mean zombie I mean __**living impaired- **__oh to hell with it, they're zombies..._

Bakura nearly fell off his stool when the object of his scrutiny turned his head towards him (making him momentarily doubt his theory, since the movement was performed with a lot more fluidity and speed than he was used to seeing from the undead) and seemed to catch him staring. His eyes were lavender in colour, but cool and crystalline. Like amethysts. Or something. He stared at Bakura for what seemed like a long time, with a mildly expectant look to him.

"...You weren't listening, were you?" he said at length. Bakura knew then that he was right, this kid was a zombie; his voice was too measured, too monotonous for any living teenager, and his expression was just too...expressionless.

"Wha?" Bakura said intelligently, trying to conceal his inner disquiet. He was sitting next to a dead kid. There was a dead kid talking to him. Was that even allowed? The living and the dead never seemed to mingle. Ever. Bakura preferred it that way.

"The teacher said to work with...the others at your bench to solve the equation," the dead boy informed him, raising one hand (apparently as effortlessly as anyone living) to point towards the white-board, on which a hideously complicated string of numbers and chemical symbols had been scribbled.

"...Oh," Bakura replied lamely.

"Unless you'd rather work alone," the other suggested coolly (or maybe that was just the undead's inability to inject warmth into their speech?), his amethyst eyes seeming to hold a challenge, "Though I did this at my last school. I can help, if you...like."

Bakura wasn't sure if the late hitch in his speech was due to his lifeless condition (though he certainly spoke a hell of a lot more fluently than any dead-head he'd ever heard) or if it indicated some kind of scorn. At least he had confirmed Bakura's original idea; he had indeed transferred here. Another undead transfer student. They seemed to be crawling out of the woodwork in Domino.

"If you've done this already, then by all means take the lead..." Kaiba spoke up suddenly, rubbing at his eyes tiredly, "God knows I can't be bothered."

The boy's mouth twitched into a small, almost-smile. He glanced slowly between Kaiba and Bakura, making the latter highly uneasy.

"I might do that," he said almost lazily, "But first maybe you could tell me your names. I am new here, after all."

"My condolences," Kaiba said moodily. He looked as though he really needed a coffee, "Seto Kaiba. Don't worry about remembering it. It's all over this city."

He referred, of course, to his step-father's multi-million dollar company, Kaiba Corp. You couldn't walk down the street in Domino without seeing _something _with the iconic KC logo emblazoned on it.

"Charmed..." the dead boy said blandly before turning to Bakura, one eyebrow raised in an impressively life-like impersonation of expectation.

"...Bakura," he offered reluctantly at length. He didn't really want to ask the accompanying question but felt it would be ridiculous not to, "And you?"

The boy's lips stretched into a wider smile, revealing a few pearly-white teeth. His eyes were still cold but that counted for very little.

"Malik," he told him (and it did seem to be for him and him alone – it was clear that Kaiba didn't care if he had a name or not), "Nice to meet you. Bakura."

Malik. It was a nice enough name. But Bakura knew that every time he thought of it or said it aloud, all he'd be able to see in his mind's eye would be those five letters carved into a tombstone that wouldn't be needed as soon as originally expected.

* * *

Bakura spent the rest of the class trying very hard not to do either of two very tempting things: one, to openly stare at the dead boy (_Malik_, he reminded himself. Even dead kids have names) just to see if he ever breathed or blinked. (He didn't. Of course not.) And two, to shuffle as far away from him as he could get without falling off the edge of the bench.

He wasn't afraid. But the corpsicles made him...uncomfortable. And he'd never been forced to sit in such close proximity to one before.

As a result, even though Malik explained every stage of the equation in his cool, level voice, Bakura simply wrote down the final solution with absolutely no clue how he had got there.

"You look like you really learned something," the blonde zombie commented dryly (but was that just his deadness?) as the class came to an end.

"Yeah, well..." Bakura muttered.

"That was surprisingly painless," Kaiba said as they started to pack their things away, "I'm glad _someone _else in this class at least knows how to think things through."

"I'm just a little further ahead...than the others," Malik reminded him with a ghostly smile on his face, "I'm sure that once you all catch up, I'll be as stupid...as the rest."

Kaiba snorted and chose not to reply. (Perhaps wisely – what kind of reply was there to give to that?) Bakura realised with some disbelief that Kaiba hadn't noticed that Malik was dead. He couldn't possibly have – surely even the future CEO of Kaiba Corp. would be at least slightly fazed by the presence of one of the undead...?

The bell rang.

To Bakura's unending disbelief, Malik was out of his seat along with the more conscientious living students, and out the door before the more lazy ones had even bothered moving. He was _fast. _For a dead guy. He moved almost...almost...

Normally?

He wondered if that was harsh. But, then, being dead and yet very much alive wasn't exactly the general definition of 'normal'.

As he left the classroom, he caught sight of Malik talking to someone near the door. Glancing at them furtively, he saw to his great surprise that he actually recognised the second person, though he couldn't quite place him. Against his better judgement, he paused to half-watch the ongoing conversation, which was starting to look more like a confrontation.

"I'm not a child, Marik," Malik was saying with as much angry heat as a dead-head could summon.

"No, you're just dead," the other (Marik, Bakura supposed, and the name too was familiar) replied bluntly, rolling his eyes. Bakura almost winced. It was considered politically incorrect to remind a zombie that they were indeed dead.

"Doesn't make me helpless. You don't need to wait for me outside every class," Malik snapped, "It's embarrassing."

"_Every_ class? It's the first class of our first day," Marik pointed out irritably, "And I only came to meet you because we have the next class together. Give me a break, Malik."

Malik shut his lips together tightly, appearing conflicted – probably due to feeling a combination of annoyance at being coddled, grudging gratitude that someone wanted to coddle him and slight remorse for being unkind about it. (Maybe experiencing more than one emotion at the same time was a bit too much for the undead brain.) In the end he didn't say anything further, instead choosing to turn away and stomp off towards his next class – without the person who'd come to meet him.

That person (Marik, right?) sighed heavily and shook his head, sending his mass of platinum blonde spikes into a frenzy. When he too turned to head down the corridor, he caught sight of Bakura and paused before grinning and pointing directly at him.

"Hey, I know you," the blonde said, all traces of irritation gone, "Lemme think...Touzoku, right? Bakura...?"

"Right," Bakura said, blinking, "Uh...where...?"

"Aw, don't tell me you forgot," Marik said with mock-hurt, "Three summers ago. Soccer camp. Marik Ishtar."

"Shit, _yeah_!" Bakura exclaimed with a short laugh as it all came flooding back to him, "God, how _could _I forget...?"

"I know. Jeez," Marik said with another grin, "Come on, I'm sure a few of the camp leaders must still be in therapy after all the shit we pulled..."

Bakura remembered it all so clearly now that his memory had been jogged. It had been a dry, hot and seemingly endless summer, and he had found a kindred spirit in a certain Marik Ishtar when his parents (mistakenly assuming that, because he played soccer in school, he had an undying desire to spend his whole summer in cleats) had carted him off to the nearest sports camp. The two of them had raised merry hell for a month or so and had become fairly inseparable, but lived nowhere near each other and, being equally scatterbrained as well as equally mischievous, had managed to fall out of contact by the end of the year.

This felt like some kind of weird dream – and not the horrific kind that usually haunted Bakura's sleeping hours. How many times since Ryou's death had he wished Marik (with whom he had simply _clicked _and who he knew would understand him infinitely better than Jou and the rest of the fail-crew) was here?

"I almost didn't recognise you," Bakura said with a small smirk, looking the other up and down. He was a lot taller than he remembered, and definitely less scrawny.

"It _has _been three years."

"So how come you suddenly transferred to this dump?" Bakura questioned, folding his arms.

"Oh, _that. _It was mostly because of..."

Marik trailed off and his expression became more serious all of a sudden. Bakura found his momentary good humour fading. He sensed he was about to learn something he might not like.

"You just come out of Chem?" Marik asked, jerking his head in the direction of the nearby door.

"Yeah..." Bakura confirmed, getting an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"You met Malik, then?" the other questioned. Bakura found himself oddly unsurprised at hearing the name, "Or maybe not, I know he's not the most approachable or communicative..."

"No, we met," Bakura told him, "You know him?"

"Hah, well I'd hope so. He's my brother," Marik said with a laugh, "Twin, to be more precise. Which I guess is why our parents thought it would be ok to give us ridiculously similar names..."

"Your _brother_?" Bakura repeated, trying not to gape. He suddenly realised that the two of them did look very alike. But it was easy to forget that dead people didn't just pop up from nowhere, that they had families too, "Oh yeah, uh...you two are pretty similar."

"I know, right? We used to be totally identical, back before..." Marik started before trailing off and looking to the side briefly. His eyes flicked back to Bakura's face, and he immediately got the uncomfortable sensation of being scrutinised, carefully considered and judged. It was as if the blonde was searching for something in his eyes, his expression, something he needed to see was there before he could continue.

"Malik's dead, y'know," Marik said finally. His eyes (violet, like Malik's, but a lot less intense, a lot more alive) remained fixed on Bakura's face, clearly gauging his reaction.

"...Yeah, I know," Bakura admitted quietly. He looked away. He couldn't help it.

"Shit, you could tell?" Marik asked with a grim chuckle, "He's not gonna like that."

"I think it was the eyes, mostly...he doesn't blink," Bakura said awkwardly, not mentioning that he also thought those eyes looked like they were carved from crystal and that he felt they could see right through every façade he put up to fool them, "But he's not like any others I've seen. Not at all."

Marik gave a small sigh. Through the milling mass of students up ahead, they could still see Malik's retreating back as he fought through the crowd – most of whom would probably never notice that he didn't blink or breathe. At a glance, he could easily pass for a beating heart.

"Yeah, he looks good, doesn't he?" Marik said with a wistful smile.

"Uh...I guess," Bakura said without conviction. Then he thought of Ryou, and of how death had sapped him of all vitality and almost all mobility, all _recognisability, _and he suddenly found himself able to say with renewed certainty, "Yeah. He does."

"Anyway, he's kind of why the family moved here," Marik said conclusively, "Domino High's getting a pretty good reputation for the way it handles living impaired students."

Bakura supposed that was why so many dead-heads had been popping up over the past year or so. Though if Domino was supposedly one of the _better _schools for the undead, he sure wouldn't like to see one of the more inhospitable establishments.

"Does it bother you?" Marik asked abruptly, almost suspiciously, "Him being dead."

"Well...yeah. Kind of," Bakura admitted with a shrug, "I don't go around burning zom- uh, living impaired people at the weekends or anything. But I won't lie, it creeps me out a little."

"Heh. At least you're honest," Marik said with a wan smile, "Tell the truth, it used to creep me out a lot. Before Malik died. Actually, it still creeped me out for a while after he died. It took a bit of getting used to. But I guess no one can really be comfortable with it unless they _know _someone who's 'living impaired'. So I won't hold it against you as long as you go easy on him, k?"

Bakura nodded despite not really knowing what he was agreeing to. He knew it hadn't been intentional, but Marik's words had knocked some of the wind out of him. _No one can really be comfortable with it unless they __**know **__someone..._So was he being excused on the grounds of ignorance? But he _did _know someone 'living impaired', his best friend was walking around dead and he still couldn't find it in him to overcome his inexplicable repulsion-

"You in cookery class now?" Marik asked, snapping him out of his sickening thoughts.

"What? Oh. Yeah," he replied after checking his still-unfamiliar timetable.

"Me too. And Malik," the blonde said with a grin that was almost wicked, "I hope he doesn't feel too bad, chopping up some other dead meat..."

Bakura stared at him, eyes bulging somewhat. Marik laughed loudly as they started to walk down the corridor (which was now empty apart from other tardy students).

"Sorry, did that sound bad?" the blonde said, still laughing, "Me and Malik joke about it quite a lot. It makes it easier, I guess."

"I see..." Bakura said uncertainly, shaken by the crass-sounding comment.

For the rest of the way to the cookery room, the subject of the walking dead abruptly vanished from their conversation. Marik launched into the usual catch-up questions – how've you been, still playing soccer, any other sports, know what you wanna do when you get out of this dump? (Fine, no, not really, no.) Then they entered the classroom, and Bakura's heart almost stopped (which was pretty much the most inappropriate metaphor ever, he later mused). He didn't even hear the lecture from the teacher about wandering in late this early in the term, because he was alternating between staring fixedly at the floor and staring reluctantly at the back of the room. Where Ryou was. Ryou was in this class.

Bakura swallowed hard. This wasn't going to be fun.

"Alright everyone, pair up," the teacher ordered, looking almost as harassed as the chemistry teacher had. It seemed to be a universal look for all staff members on the first day, "I don't care that you're hardly back, you're cooking today. Vegetable soup. Recipes and ingredients are at the workstations, and I _really _hope none of you are so hopeless that you could mess this one up..."

"Vegetable soup," Marik whispered as he and Bakura claimed a workstation with a mutual assumption that they'd be working together if only to continue catching up, "It's ok, no dead meat..."

They'd just located all the equipment they would require and were about to start preparing the vegetables when the teacher spoke up again.

"Ahem. I don't think _this _partnership is a very good idea," she said primly, folding her arms and tapping her foot. Bakura looked up, wondering if she was referring to him and Marik, but quickly realised it was nothing to do with two latecomers working together. Malik and Ryou were standing next to each other, the former staring the teacher down with a look of sheer disdain and the latter gazing mutely at the floor. Bakura should have known they would end up together. No one ever wanted to partner with the dead kids. And even if the others in the class hadn't noticed that Malik was among the ranks of the living impaired, he was new, unknown, and therefore nobody's first choice.

"Is there a problem?" Malik enquired politely enough, but so coldly and with such ice in his eyes that Bakura almost felt like flinching even though he wasn't the target.

"Oh yes, there's a problem," the teacher snapped, "Any 'living impaired' student in the class is bad enough, but two of you working _together? _I do not think so. We'd be here until next week."

If possible, the freezing look in Malik's eyes intensified to the extent that it seemed impossible that the teacher wouldn't be struck down where she stood. Bakura could understand his apparent rage. The teacher had just kind of 'outed' him as a zombie. And it seemed as if most of the kids in the class really hadn't noticed before, if the way they were now ogling him was any fair indication.

"One of you switch into another pair," the teacher said curtly, "I don't care which."

She bustled off to do God knows what. Probably just to avoid Malik's scathing glare, which must have been unnerving her.

There was a long and absolutely deathly silence. Malik scowled around the room, chin stuck out in an unspoken challenge. _What the fuck are you all looking at?_

"Sorry, Bakura. I can't just leave him there," Marik said with an apologetic smile, crossing the room (completely ignoring the stares of the other students) and exchanging a few words with his much deader twin. Malik looked thoroughly pissed off at his brother having to come to his rescue, but seemed aware that it was a necessity. No one else was going to crack and offer to work with either of the undead students.

It was with mixed feelings that Bakura watched Malik eventually turn and walk briskly towards him. A part of him was shamefully nervous about working alongside a zombie again – and in a _practical _class. But a much larger portion of him was simply relieved that it was Malik and not Ryou that Marik had sent over.

"Hello again," Malik said tonelessly as he reached the bench, "Ba-ku-ra."

Bakura got the strange feeling that the dead boy was somehow making fun of him.

"I promise my _maggots_ won't contaminate the food," Malik said with a sting in his voice that clearly wasn't aimed directly at Bakura but still managed to cut into him a little. It was intended for all living people, after all. _Sorry you're being __**forced **__to work with me. Sorry it bothers you so damn much._

"I...before, in Chem...I didn't realise you were Marik's brother," Bakura blurted out clumsily, suddenly wanting to try and treat this kid as normally as he could. It was hard enough being a new student without being immediately ostracised for something that wasn't really your fault and was (as far as medical science was aware) pretty much unchangeable, "Me and him met at soccer camp a few years back."

Malik blinked (which looked stranger than it should have, since Bakura knew it was a conscious response instead of a reflexive one) and then gave one of his ethereal smiles.

"Oh. So you're _that _Bakura..." he mused aloud, going over to the nearby sink.

Bakura supposed Marik must have told him about all the crazy pranks and rule-breaking the two of them had got up to after the constant, unvaried soccer had started to bore them. He felt somewhat embarrassed that Malik's first impression of him would be based on some stupid things he'd done when he was fourteen.

"You weren't there, were you?" he asked uncertainly when silence started to descend.

"No," Malik replied simply, running the slightly earthy vegetables under the cold tap, "Soccer was...never my thing. Basketball was my sport, before..."

The sentence didn't really require completion. He frowned and looked more intently at the vegetables in the sink.

"Soccer was never really my thing either," Bakura admitted, peeling the flaky skin off of an onion and starting to hack at it with the nearest knife, "My parents just thought it was."

"Yeah?" Malik said, dumping the dripping vegetables onto the worktop. He didn't sound very interested but Bakura wasn't sure if that was, again, just the deadness.

"...I always sucked at basketball, though," he said with a laugh that sounded nervous even to his own ears.

"I used to be pretty good..." Malik said blandly. His expression was impossible to read, "Do you want me to do that?"

"Huh?" Bakura blinked. The blonde boy pointed to the slightly butchered onion.

"It won't hurt my eyes," he said with a furtive smile, "...Also, you're using a bread-knife."

"Really?" Bakura said, blinking again as he looked down at the blade, "Well, shit."

Malik reached over to take the onion from him. As he did so, their fingers nearly touched. Bakura jerked his hand back on an instinct he didn't even know he possessed. Shame burned through him immediately but Malik didn't comment on it, instead merely starting to slice the onion with a small sharp knife.

"...Does it really not make your eyes hurt?" Bakura asked at length, desperate to re-instil some kind of normality after that little slip. His own eyes had already started to water during his brief time with the pungent bulb.

"Onions can't hurt me now," Malik said plainly. Without warning, he made as if to plunge the blade of his knife into the back of his own hand. Bakura only just managed to stifle a yell, "That...wouldn't hurt me either. But it would never heal...so let's not."

"_Shit, _don't do that!" Bakura yelped, feeling his heart pounding furiously in his chest, "Why...seriously, that was...!"

Malik sniggered softly.

"You're kind of cute," he commented, finishing his neat job of slicing and dicing the onion and moving on to a potato.

Bakura felt his face burn as he reached for a carrot and started peeling it, just for something to look at. He found himself wishing that Malik was just a little slower, a little more zombie-like. A normal zombie (if normal was really the right word) would never have been able to give him a scare like that. A normal zombie wouldn't have been able to move fast enough.

"The boy...I was with before," Malik said, snapping him out of his thoughts, "Do you know his name? He didn't have time to tell me."

Malik must have been standing with Ryou for a good ten minutes, but Bakura still had no trouble believing that the white-haired boy couldn't even stutter out his name in that time. He hoped his unease at this question didn't show on his face. He tried to appear neutral, unmoved – as if he too were one of the dead.

"It's Ryou," he said as flatly as he could. He thought it came out sounding a bit pathetic.

"Oh," Malik replied with the ghost of a smile, "That's...impressive. Most of the breathers here probably...don't even know that."

Bakura struggled to keep his expression uncaring, completely unaffected, but something must have broken through – and Malik must have seen it. Truly an astute zombie.

"Oh," he said again, quieter this time, "I see."

Bakura didn't know exactly what the blonde zombie could 'see', and he didn't really want to find out so he didn't ask. He couldn't help stealing a glance over his shoulder, though. As he might have expected, Marik appeared to be doing most of the work. Ryou was holding a knife (a mildly scary sight in itself) but seemed to lack the motor skills and coordination to put it to any good use. His expression was, as always, completely impassive, but the Ryou that Bakura remembered would have been feeling an overwhelming amount of frustration at being so useless.

Then, to the shock of everyone who noticed, Marik laid down his own knife and went to stand behind Ryou. He reached around and took the dead boy's hands in his own, carefully guiding them so that the knife cut a halved onion into neat, even slices.

A few people stared in undisguised horror. Marik didn't seem to care. Bakura didn't care, either – those stares weren't what mattered. What mattered was that Ryou had turned his head – slowly, slowly – to look at the tall blonde, and his pale dead face had stretched into a small, squint but very real smile.

Bakura felt an unexpected lump in his throat.

"I don't think anyone's done...one nice thing for him since he died," Malik remarked. Bakura jumped, unaware that his partner had been following his line of vision.

"How'd you figure that?" he asked with a frown.

"I just know," Malik said shortly.

* * *

By the end of class, everyone (even Marik and Ryou) had managed to produce two servings of something that could pass for vegetable soup.

Bakura tried to be as subtle as possible as he stared across the classroom. Marik was standing there, talking away to Ryou as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Maybe having a dead brother changed your perspective on these things. Ryou, whose vacant gaze never usually left the floor, was looking him raptly in the face, at least appearing to take in his every word. Bakura found himself biting down on his lower lip, waiting with bated breath to see if Ryou would open his mouth and form some kind of reply. It would be a damn miracle, but in the last hour Bakura had seen him smile for the first time since he died, so maybe it was possible, maybe...

"Uh-oh."

Bakura blinked and turned back to his own workstation. Malik had been ladling their soup into two Styrofoam cups, but was currently standing staring into the pot, ladle poised in mid-air.

"What is it?" Bakura asked after a long moment of silence.

"I think my eye just fell in here," Malik said flatly, leaning slightly closer to the pot's contents.

"_Seriously?_" Bakura gaped, feeling his stomach heave. He gripped the edge of the worktop tightly – because the sight of an eyeball floating in the soup just _might _make his knees forget their primary function.

"No," Malik said, turning his head to reveal that both his glassy eyes were still safely in their sockets. He was smiling. Or rather, smirking.

"You think you're really funny, don't you?" Bakura muttered, folding his arms and trying to fight down the blush he knew was spreading across the bridge of his nose. He supposed he'd been pretty stupid to fall for that. He'd never heard anything about zombies randomly and unexpectedly losing body parts.

"You're the one who's funny," Malik informed him, still grinning to himself. He finished serving out the soup and pushed both cupfuls towards Bakura, "You...might as well take both of those."

"What? But you did most of the work," he said unthinkingly. He felt the urge to smack himself in the face as he remembered an instant later.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" Malik asked dryly, fixing him with a half-lidded stare. Because, of course, _zombies didn't eat._

"Yeah, ok, sorry," Bakura grumbled, pulling one of the cups towards him and inspecting the contents, "Uh. Think we might have overdone it with the blender. It looks like well-digested vomit."

Malik stared at him for a moment before practically sputtering with laughter. His laugh came out a little stilted at first, but quickly settled down and became a surprisingly natural sound. Bakura found himself fighting down a smile too.

"That's gross," Malik reprimanded him.

"And dropping an eyeball in it isn't...?"

The blonde zombie sniggered a little longer before looking serious again as he watched the wisps of steam rising from the cups.

"...Does it smell good?" he asked at length. He looked genuinely curious. Bakura blinked.

"You can't smell it?" he asked in surprise. For the first time, Malik looked embarrassed.

"Not really," he said with an awkward shrug, "I mean, sometimes I...kind of..."

He fell silent, looking off to the side.

Well, that was new. Bakura had never really thought about the dead-heads' sense of smell. He knew they could see and hear and, usually, speak. Touch he wasn't sure of. They didn't seem to feel pain (if onions and knives couldn't hurt them), but they must have _some _sensation in their bodies; otherwise they wouldn't be able to move, right? But smell...He supposed it was directly linked to taste, which they sure didn't need any more.

"...Yeah, it smells pretty good," he said finally. He raised one cup to his lips and took a mouthful of the dubious-looking substance. Malik looked honestly shocked – after all, dead hands had prepared most of those vegetables. Bakura suppressed a smirk (and possibly a grimace too). _Looks like your maggots didn't contaminate it after all._

"Tastes ok too," he concluded after a moment, "But definitely has the consistency of...well-digested vomit."

"Nice," Malik commented.

"Also, I keep imagining an eyeball floating to the surface," Bakura said, setting the cup back on the worktop, "Thanks for that."

"It's my pleasure," Malik said, that ghostly smile hanging around his mouth again.

When the bell rang, Bakura left both cups of soup on the worktop. He didn't need to drink any more of it – he'd made his point.

"Looks like Marik made a friend," Malik said blandly as he shouldered his bag. Bakura turned to look and was dismayed (though not really surprised) to see that he meant Ryou.

"You coming or what, Bakura?" Marik called to him. Ryou's head revolved (slowly, jerkily) to face his direction, but he didn't raise his eyes to look at him.

"...No," Bakura said, already heading for the door, "I said I'd meet my friends...somewhere."

It sounded lame even to his own ears, but he didn't care. As long as he got away. Sure, he'd just spent two classes in a row with Malik, and the blonde boy was surprisingly tolerable and remarkably life-like for a zombie, but Ryou was different. He couldn't be near Ryou. Not now.

"What got into him?" he heard Marik wonder aloud as he hurried away.

"Maybe I scared him," Malik replied.

* * *

_**Happy Halloween, everyone!**_

_**I just killed two of my favourite characters D: Somehow I think zombie!Ryou and Malik would be weirdly cute, though. I tried to draw Ryou to demonstrate his creepy cuteness, but I have pretty much no idea what I'm doing when it comes to digital colouring so it's not exactly a masterpiece. But he's my new icon, anyway xD If amateurish art is your thing, take a peek at my deviantART account for the full picture. Username is fiver-chan. **_

_**Marik and Bakura are FAR TOO NICE in this story. But I can live with that.**_

_**Also, if anyone has any quirky death-related quotes or song lyrics, please send them my way. My plan is to have one at the start of every chapter but I have a seriously limited supply at the moment. **_

_**Thanks to Lady Blackwell for beta-ing – you improved this chapter by about 150% (:**_

_**Review?**_

_**Fiver x**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

'_**We're hanging out with corpses and driving in this hearse.' – **__**'Vampires Will Never Hurt You', My Chemical Romance**_

"You're still staring," Marik said with a faint smirk.

"I can't help it!" Bakura hissed back at him with undisguised despair in his voice.

It was the second day of term, and Bakura had met up with the Ishtar twins at lunchtime, having managed to give his ol' buddies Jou, Honda and Ushio the slip. (It was ok, because Ryou wasn't with them today. In fact, if his conspicuous absence on the bus that morning was any indication, Ryou wasn't even in school. Bakura was distantly ashamed of the sigh of relief he'd given upon noticing.)

However, he'd got a bit of a shock – enough to make him lose his appetite for his (admittedly already unappetising) home-made lunch.

The day before, Malik had looked almost perfectly alive_. _If it hadn't been for those unblinking eyes, Bakura might have simply assumed he was a regular beating heart, just like himself. Today, it was a different story.

The most instantly noticeable change was that his skin was about two shades paler. His naturally dark complexion meant that death hadn't turned him the marbled-white that Bakura was accustomed to seeing on the zombies, but by comparison to his still-living brother, Malik was looking a bit...faded. This only served to make his crystalline eyes more intense and unnerving, and made the slight dark hollows around them visible for the first time. He was clearly working this to full effect, since he appeared to have darkened the area further with black kohl. And Bakura could have _sworn _that his eyes were just _scarier _today – lighter in colour, more piercing. More like glass doll's eyes.

And, just in case anyone was still in any doubt, he was wearing a close-fitting black t-shirt with the words 'Dead Man Walking' in neat white writing across his torso.

"I don't get it," Bakura said in a whisper – hardly necessary, since Malik had wandered off a short distance while the two of them ate, but it seemed appropriate, "Why does he...y'know...?"

"He's pissed," Marik said with a wry smile after swallowing a large bite of his sandwich. Unlike Bakura, he was having no trouble eating, "It was like his _goal _when we moved here to fool everyone for a while. He wanted to see how long he could pass for a breather. But first you noticed-"

"You told him that?" Bakura interjected in horror. Marik snorted.

"Of course," he said with a careless wave, "Anyway, then that superbitch teacher announced it to everyone, and the game was up. He never even got his chance. So now he's fizzing mad. And when Malik gets mad, he gets kind of...confrontational."

"You've lost me," Bakura said blankly, unable to see how being in a supremely bad mood was related to Malik looking ten times deader today.

"Yesterday, he was trying to hide the fact that he's dead," Marik said patiently, "Today, he's basically broadcasting 'I'm dead and if you have a fucking problem with it, I'll kill you dead too'."

"...Oh."

"I didn't get a minute's peace last night," Marik said, rolling his eyes, "You'd think a zombie couldn't bitch and rant with any kind of intensity, but you'd be wrong."

"But...uh..." Bakura started uncomfortably, "_How _does he look so...different?"

"Oh, _that_," Marik said, throwing his blonde-spiked head back with a crow of laughter, "He's not wearing his make-up."

"His what?" Bakura questioned incredulously, not sure whether he was joking or not. It was hard to tell with Marik, since he didn't seem to take anything related to dead kids very seriously. His attitude towards the phenomenon reminded Bakura of how he and Ryou had reacted to it until it had actually become their problem.

"No kidding," Marik assured him, still sniggering to himself, "There's an actual cosmetic line that's been developed for zombie kids. You can buy it in all those alternative-type stores – you know, the ones that sell spell-books and obscure music and the clothes the goth kids wear. It's got this stuff to darken their skin. Makes it look a bit healthier, y'know? Basically spray-on tan for the undead, I guess."

Bakura nodded dumbly as he processed this information. The idea of a make-up label for the corpses seemed hilarious, but fairly tragic at the same time. Because that stuff wasn't designed to help them look _good, _it was to help them come closer to looking _normal. _And he felt an odd twinge of sympathy for Malik – the kid had put so much damn effort in, only for that idiot teacher to blow his cover.

"He hasn't got his contacts in, either," Marik continued suddenly as he cracked open a can of soda, "In case you were wondering."

"I wasn't..." Bakura started to protest before wilting under Marik's sceptical stare, "Ok, I was."

"He's in full death-glare mode today," the blonde said with a nod, "Heh...get it? Death glare?"

Bakura laughed weakly. So, zombie fake tan and coloured contact lenses. No wonder Malik looked a lot more ghoulish today.

"I prefer him when he looks like this now, anyway," Marik went on, nodding in his brother's general direction. Malik appeared to be examining one of the school-yard's few trees in great detail, "Suppose I'm just used to it."

Bakura just nodded again and didn't reply. Privately, he was wondering exactly how long it had taken Marik to get 'used to it' (or, in other words, how long ago Malik had died) but he had an odd feeling that it would be inappropriate to ask. To his mind, asking someone about the details of their death (their freaking _death_)had the same callousness to it as a lawyer asking a rape victim to describe their ordeal in front of a courtroom of onlookers.

He was starting to think the unhappy occasion hadn't been awfully recent, though. Because today, looking at the twins side by side, he had noticed a disturbing difference between them other than life and death: Marik looked older. Not by a _lot, _but it was beginning to become noticeable, and it was only going to become more so as time passed. He was already taller than Malik, and definitely starting to develop a more adult physique, in everything from his more angular face and slightly deeper voice to his broader shoulders and the defined muscles in his arms. Malik, on the other hand, with his large eyes and willowy frame, was the perfect image of youth struck down before it could quite reach its prime. And he would look like that forever. The dead didn't age any more than they breathed or blinked or ate. Bakura found himself frowning as the implications of this, especially for Malik, came creeping up on him. How shitty must it be to watch your _twin _grow up, to see how you _could _have turned out, while all the time you were perpetually stuck in your mid-teens...?

Well, he concluded, it was probably just about as shitty as having to deal with the fact that your twin was _dead._

Malik chose that moment to wander back over to them, hands jammed in his pockets. For the most part his movements were fluid and easy (that much hadn't changed from yesterday), which somehow only served to make his distinctly zombie-ish appearance more disconcerting. Up close, he looked kind of like he'd had a very light dusting of white powder over his whole body. It was almost possible to believe that you could reach out and wipe some of it away, and there would be rich bronze skin, like Marik's, underneath.

"What were you doing over there? Bird-watching?" Marik asked at his approach.

"Shut up," Malik said blandly, sitting down next to him on the grass, "It's a nice tree."

Bakura wasn't sure if Marik was being deliberately obtuse to save them all from a real awkward moment, or if he genuinely hadn't noticed the small throng of students tossing a ball around on the nearby basketball court – just beyond the tree Malik had been so engrossed in. At length the dead boy's piercing gaze drifted back towards the disorganised-looking game, which seemed to lack any sort of regard for the rules but, unfortunately, looked no less fun for all that. One kid went to shoot for the basket, but another boy (hopefully from the opposing team) gave a war-cry and charged at him like a bull. The unfortunate target dropped the ball and ended up on his ass, and the others all laughed like it was the funniest thing they'd seen all day. (Hell, maybe it was – Domino High hadn't been such a funny place since it filled up with dead-heads.) Malik made a noise that might have been a derisive snort.

"...To tell the truth, the actual school team isn't much better than that," Bakura said. Malik's head snapped around to fix him with, in Marik's words, a full-on death-glare.

"I doubt they're so bad that they'd want a corpse playing for them," he retorted in a cold, drawn-out drawl.

"Hey, that's not what I..." Bakura started to protest, throwing up his hands.

"Play nice, Malik," Marik cut in mildly.

Bakura and the dead twin continued sending each other dark looks but didn't say anything further.

Apart from Malik's appearance, Bakura had noticed one other change in the blonde zombie today: his attitude. And not in the 'generally pissed off at the world' way that Marik had been talking about – his attitude towards _him _specifically. He wondered if he'd said or done something grossly offensive yesterday. They'd got along ok, hadn't they? Sure, he'd been a _little _bit disturbed by his deadness and Malik had seemed to know it, but he'd thought he'd done pretty well. They'd talked, they'd shared a laugh. They'd made some soup that looked like puke. And yet today, from the moment they'd come into close proximity, Malik had been about as antagonistic as he could be without just cutting loose and punching him repeatedly in the face.

Bakura sighed as he finally gave in and shoved his untouched lunch back into its bag. He really didn't feel like eating anymore. Malik looked like he might have had a scathing comment on the tip of his tongue regarding this (_'Aw, the rotting smell putting you off?'_) but managed to refrain from giving it voice.

"Hey, Ba-ku-ra," he said instead, drawing his name out in that way that somehow always managed to sound scornful, "You're not busy after school, are you?"

"What if I am?" Bakura replied dully, choosing not to look at him because he suspected that it was written all over his face that the real answer was _'No, I have absolutely nothing of interest to do, ever.'_

"You don't seem like the type to join clubs," Malik said with the faintest mocking smile curving his mouth, "And you definitely don't seem like the type...to have a job."

"Will you behave?" Marik said, rolling his eyes and batting his twin lightly over the head before turning to Bakura, "What he means to say is, unless you have something _massively _important to do today, we'd like it if you came back to our place after class."

"Uh," Bakura said with a blink. He wasn't sure why, but that sounded ominous, "What for?"

"A play-date," Malik piped up with a humourless grin, earning himself another smack.

"Relax, we're not going to steal your organs or anything," Marik said.

Bakura regarded the two of them suspiciously and opened his mouth to question them further, when the bell rang.

"I've got History now," Malik said as he got to his feet, "And then P.E. They asked me...if I wanted a permanent exemption from the class. Can you believe that?"

"You should have taken it," Marik said with sudden sharpness, casting a disapproving frown up at him.

"...You think so?" Malik questioned, folding his arms. It came out almost a sneer.

"Yeah," his twin retorted bluntly, "You won't be able to keep up. You know that."

"Fat kids can't keep up either, but they've still got to do it," Malik snapped.

"Well, they're not _dead_," Marik said with that same frankness that had made Bakura wince the day before, "What do you suppose you'll be doing in P.E.? Football, soccer? Some other nice contact sport? Something that'll give any idiot out there an opportunity to kick the shit out of you?"

"They can't hurt me," Malik muttered. His face was completely impassive but Bakura could sense the rage, the indignation, the _frustration_ rising in him, like water coming swiftly to the boil.

"But they can damage you," Marik shot back at him, "If they break your nose or snap your arm, you're stuck with that. _Permanently._"

It was only then that Bakura started to understand what the big deal was. He remembered what Malik had said yesterday after pretending, in his _screaming _humour, to stab himself in the hand.

'_But it would never heal so...'_

His mouth formed a small 'o' of realisation. Unfortunately, Malik seemed to mistake this for some kind of opening to a taunt.

"Don't you say a fucking word," he hissed, narrowing those startling eyes.

"I wasn't going to!" Bakura said defensively, scowling right back.

"Just take the damn exemption, Malik," Marik said abruptly, interrupting them again.

"Or what, you'll rat on me?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Marik said plainly.

Malik glared flaming, poison-coated daggers at them both for another moment before turning and stomping off towards the P.E. block.

"...I should probably have warned you," Marik said at length with a small smile, "Just because we're twins and we're awesome and stuff, that doesn't mean we don't fight. Like, all the time."

"I think he wants to kill me," Bakura said dubiously. Marik laughed.

"Nah, I'm the one he wants to kill right now," he said, "He just wants to maim you a little."

"What'd I do?" Bakura grumbled as they grabbed their things and started to make their way back to the main building. They were going to be late for class again but neither of them particularly cared.

"Oh, you'll find out later," Marik said, nodding definitely. Bakura frowned questioningly at him but he just grinned.

"You'll come over, right?" he said, slapping him on the shoulder, "Not scared, are you?"

"Should I be?" Bakura asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Aw, no. Well, maybe a little. No, I'm kidding. Just come. It's important."

"So important that you can't tell me what it's about?"

"Don't be like that," Marik said with a mock-pout, "Come on. Bakura Touzoku, crowned dark prince of Rising Stars Soccer Camp, would have taken this as a challenge. Do I have to call you chicken until you cave?"

"Whatever," Bakura replied, lips twitching into an involuntary smirk.

The last time Marik had pulled the 'chicken' card on him, he had been goading him into jumping from the roof of the camp shower block (which they had reached by use of a drainpipe in a moment of particularly intense boredom) and into a nearby tree. The branch he'd picked to grab onto had promptly snapped, and he'd fallen and concussed himself.

He could only hope there wouldn't be a similar result this time around.

* * *

Bakura's last two classes of the day were Math and Economics, which sure made for a fun-filled afternoon. Economics probably wasn't the most logical class to choose when your other elective was Cookery, but Bakura wasn't currently aiming for any career path in particular and so had simply decided to throw something intelligent-sounding into the mix in an attempt to keep his options open. He got a strong feeling that Cookery was going to prove much more useful to him than anything he learned in this class, though.

He'd just settled down and got himself ready for fifty minutes of complete spacing out, when the door opened and a somewhat irritable-looking teacher strode in with none other than Malik Ishtar in tow. Bakura, who had been leaning backwards lazily with two chair legs off the floor, had to reach out and grab his desk to prevent himself from just tipping backwards and falling over in disgruntled surprise. Malik had been left standing near the front of the room while his escort and the class teacher exchanged quiet words, and upon noticing Bakura's _'holy shit, what are you doing here?' _stare, responded with a cutting _'what are __**you **__looking at?' _glower.

It was only then that Bakura remembered about Marik's insistence that Malik quit P.E. This led him to suppose that the dead boy must have taken his brother's advice but, instead of taking the opportunity to sit and twiddle his thumbs in study hall like any normal, ambition-lacking student, had decided to push his way into an extra academic class.

After some more muttering between the two teachers, Malik was sent to a seat in the row behind Bakura. Every pair of eyes in the room followed him as he made his way to his desk. Bakura could hear snatches of whispers from those near to him – _'He's dead, right? God, he walks kind of... normally. That's weird, that creeps me out even more than the ones who can't walk right at all, at least you can tell what they are right away...'_

Even though Malik had been thoroughly abrasive to him today, Bakura couldn't help but feel kind of sorry for him then.

Since they weren't sitting together (for which Bakura was unabashedly grateful), he and Malik didn't say a word to each other the entire class, but there seemed to be some unspoken understanding between them that they would be leaving the room together, and Bakura _was _coming to the Ishtars' lair whether he liked it or not.

When the final bell rang, Malik – who had been one of the first out of the Chemistry classroom the day before – was almost unbelievably slow at putting his things away and getting himself ready to go. Bakura, inwardly wondering if _looking _more zombie-ish today was starting to have a zombifying effect on the dead boy's movements, couldn't help but glance over his shoulder at him quizzically.

"What?" Malik said quietly, not looking at him, "Do you want everyone to see you walking with a maggot farm?"

Bakura opened his mouth to say that he didn't really give a shit, but then realised that was a lie and shut it again.

The class emptied pretty quickly – it was home-time, after all, and no one was hanging around to soak up the atmosphere of an Economics classroom. Even the teacher had grabbed her coat and made a run for it.

However, one other person was taking their sweet time leaving. Seto Kaiba was still standing at his desk, which was two down from Malik's. He appeared to be trying to fix some problem (which Bakura couldn't _quite _see) with a buckle on his book-bag. This went on for so long that Bakura started to wonder if he and Malik were having some kind of fierce, silent contest for the prize of leaving the room last.

"Speak, Seto," Malik said suddenly, his cool voice echoing slightly in the empty room, "The suspense is...killing me."

Kaiba, abandoning the suddenly obvious pretence of fixing his bag, raised an eyebrow at him and cast a pointed glance in Bakura's direction.

"Don't worry about him," Malik said dismissively, "He's...safe, I guess."

"He's on our side?" Kaiba questioned, looking Bakura up and down with undisguised scepticism.

"No," Malik replied, shouldering his bag and flashing a small smile, "But he's part of the 'program' now. I'm sure he'll keep his mouth shut."

If Bakura had been any less confused at that moment, he might have been more perturbed by Malik's use of the word 'program'. As it was, he could only stare back and forth between the two of them (with what was undoubtedly an idiotic, dumbfounded expression) and try fruitlessly to work out what they were talking about.

"I see," Kaiba said tonelessly, sparing Bakura one last critical sweep of his blue eyes before turning back to Malik, "I just wanted to tell you that I won't be able to make it today. I've been called to a meeting unexpectedly. You know how Gozaburo likes to spring these things on me."

"...That's too bad," Malik said. Bakura fancied he saw a look of faint disappointment cross the dead boy's face, but it was gone before he could be sure, "Maybe next time."

"We'll see," Kaiba said with a stiff nod. He went to walk past them before pausing and adding, with an impossible touch of awkwardness, "I'll see you later."

"Bye," Malik replied, raising his hand in a small wave, "I'll give you a thirty second head-start. Walk fast."

Kaiba snorted and exited the room without another word – though he paused long enough to shoot one more suspicious and calculating look in Bakura's direction. He left a ringing silence in his wake.

"...What was that?" Bakura managed to ask at length.

"What?" Malik replied mildly. He appeared to be genuinely timing thirty seconds on his watch.

"_That_," Bakura said, gesturing wildly in the direction Kaiba had just gone. A note of hysteria entered his voice as his confusion reached meltdown-point, "You and Kaiba, talking and...You _know_ him?"

It seemed insane – _impossible, _even – but the way Malik and Kaiba had been talking made it clear that they weren't just classmates who'd been introduced the day before.

"Maybe," Malik said vaguely, still looking fixedly at his watch even though it had definitely been longer than thirty seconds now.

"How?"

"We met at an interpretive dance class."

"Bull_shit._"

"Uh-huh."

Bakura had to physically refrain from pulling his own (or Malik's) hair out in frustration. Suddenly, however, his downward spiral of confusion and irritation was interrupted as a ground-breaking conclusion occurred to him.

"Oh God, he's a zombie, isn't he?" he blurted out, forgetting to use a more politically-correct term as his brain imploded. He could hear the rising panic in his voice. Kaiba had more than enough power to have him murdered if he decided he didn't want him knowing that, "He's secretly dead and...actually, it kind of makes sense now that I think about it..."

It all came together in his head with staggering clarity – he'd always thought Kaiba was just _too _stoic for a teenager; he didn't talk much, his gaze could slice through you like an icicle, he was about as expressive as an introverted rock-

Malik suddenly erupted into hysterical laughter which, coming from a dead kid, was quite a feat. Bakura hadn't been aware that they could express that much emotion at one time.

"You're...an...idiot," Malik managed finally, his fluent speech falling to pieces in the wake of his outburst. He was sniggering helplessly, and it was seriously creeping Bakura out because it almost gave the illusion that he was out of breath.

"Seto isn't...dead, moron," the blonde zombie continued at length, "He's...sympathetic to those of us who are. He's just someone I know. I do know people, believe it...or not."

Bakura fell silent, feeling rather humbled. (Though he had more readily accepted the idea that Kaiba could be a zombie than the idea that he was 'sympathetic' to anything.) He still didn't fully understand exactly what the deal was here – after all, not many people, living or dead, just 'knew' Seto Kaiba – but he had realised by now that Malik wasn't going to be nice and explain. However, another thought suddenly struck him.

"Wait," he said with a deep frown, "You asked for his _name _yesterday."

"I forgot it," Malik replied, not missing a beat. His speech had returned to normal speed by now, "It happens when you're dead_._ Brain cells decaying and all that."

Bakura growled lowly and turned away from him, giving up on getting a straight answer to anything he asked. Maybe he could quiz Marik later.

"...Do you really need me to explain that?" Malik said suddenly, casting a disdainful look up at him, "He's Seto Kaiba. Among the living, he's high-status. Important_. _Don't you think there'd be...consequences for him if people knew he associated with a dead-head? Use your damn brain."

Bakura went back to feeling humbled and didn't say another word.

"Let's go," Malik said after another moment, turning and heading for the door, "Before Marik starts thinking I've died...again."

To Bakura, that seemed a little insensitive, but he refrained from commenting as he moved to catch up.

"Please don't tell Kaiba I thought he was...living-impaired," he said with a wince as he and Malik fell into step.

"I'll think about it," the blonde zombie snorted.

They found Marik waiting for them just outside the main entrance. The autumn sun turned his spiked hair into a gold-orange halo as he turned, grinning, to greet them.

"What the hell happened to you two?" he asked as they reached him, "Malik's legs fall off or something?"

"Thought we should wait until the area was clear," Malik replied flatly. He didn't appear remotely offended by his twin's remark, whilst Bakura felt his eye twitch and spasm as he fought down the urge to openly groan in mortification.

"Where's Kaiba?" Marik asked with a blink, craning his neck to see behind them, as if Seto might have been hiding at their backs.

"Not coming," Malik said. His expression didn't change, but he sounded almost sulky.

"Aw, too bad." Marik didn't look all that upset by the news. If anything, his smile widened before he slung an arm around Bakura's shoulders, "But hey, we got Touzoku instead."

"What...consolation," Malik said in a voice that was, even by zombie standards, extremely deadpan.

The last of the school buses were just preparing to leave, but the twins moved off in the complete opposite direction and Bakura followed with growing trepidation. He was already starting to regret agreeing to this – if what he had done could actually be considered agreeing. He mentally gauged how bad it would look if he made a sprint for one of the buses.

Pretty bad, he concluded resignedly.

He found himself in the student parking lot (a facility he had never used) and briefly wondered if Marik (or, even weirder, Malik) could drive already. However, there was a small white mini-bus waiting in a space with its engine running, and it was this vehicle that the twins headed towards. Its doors whooshed open at their approach. Bakura eyed the emblem painted on the side of the bus with suspicion. It consisted of what appeared to be a very basic picture of a sun, and the letters 'D.B.D.P' in navy-blue letters. Marik noticed his line of vision.

"Don't chicken out on me, now," he ordered with another grin, grabbing Bakura's arm and effectively hauling him up the bus steps after him.

Malik was already sitting down, next to another boy Bakura didn't recognise. The bus wasn't busy, and he wondered if they were still waiting for more students to arrive, but almost as soon as Marik shoved him into a seat and flopped down next to him, the driver revved the engine and they started to judder towards the nearby road.

It was weirdly quiet. Bakura wondered why no one was talking – his daily journeys on the school bus had made him accustomed to vehicles full of chatting, excitable adolescents with a penchant for playing obnoxiously loud dance music on their cell phones. Looking around as surreptitiously as he could, he checked out each of the other passengers in turn.

His eyes were met with nothing but pale, blank faces. His mouth went dry.

Once again, he just knew. Out of all the passengers on the bus, he and Marik were the only ones whose hearts were still beating.

"You look like you just saw a ghost," Marik remarked, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

"What is this?" Bakura hissed lowly at him. He was getting seriously _pissed _now. First all that cloak-and-dagger bullshit, and now he was on a bus with nothing but dead kids?

"It's the bus back to our place," Marik replied with a shrug. He'd considerately wiped the smirk off his face, having apparently noticed that Bakura wasn't all that amused.

"Oh holy _shit, _can't you or your damn brother explain one single thing to me today?" the white-haired teen growled, struggling to keep his voice at a level that didn't seem incredibly loud in the eerie silence, "What's going _on_?"

"Don't tell him," Malik piped up without turning around, "You'll spoil all the fun."

"Sorry, I didn't know Frankenbitch over there had been messing with you," Marik said, casting an irritated frown in his twin's direction, "He's good at that. Ok, I'll shed a little light. You were looking at the logo on the bus, right?"

"Yeah," Bakura confirmed, eyeing him distrustfully.

"Yeah. So this bus is for those lucky enough to be involved in the Differently Biotic Development Program," Marik said with a sage nod, "Or D.B.D.P. Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, but it does the job."

"...Differently biotic?" Bakura repeated apprehensively. The word 'program' was swirling ominously in his head, too. Malik had mentioned something about a program. What had he been signed up for...?

"Heh, didn't you know? It's the newest 'proper' term for a zombie," Marik explained, his grin coming back with full force, "Apparently they got bored of 'living-impaired'."

"The politicians...thought...'living-impaired'...sounded...de-ro-ga-to-ry," a dead boy Bakura didn't recognise put in from the seat opposite them. He broke into stuttering laughter that reminded Bakura of the sound of a car engine struggling to start. He only just suppressed the urge to shudder.

"So what does this have to do with me?" he asked once he'd got his head around this new term.

"Aw, telling you that would take away _all _the mystery," Marik said cheerfully, "For now, just consider it a learning opportunity."

Bakura scowled at him but Marik just smiled back, unmoved. In the end the white-haired teen fell into a moody silence and sat staring out the window, inwardly swearing never to go near these kooky twins again after today. So what if he and Marik had found that they shared a rather awesome connection at some lame soccer camp three years ago? It seemed that a whole lot of shit had changed since then.

Their very quiet journey took them to the quiet outskirts of Domino. They finally turned off the main road onto a winding track, and Bakura sensed they had almost reached wherever they were going. He'd long since given up on trying to remember the way they'd come. If he wanted to make a swift escape, he was going to have to shake the address out of someone and call a cab.

Finally, they cleared a small crowd of trees and a building came into view. To reach it, the bus had to pass through a pair of towering metal gates, which opened automatically as it neared. The building and a sizeable area of land surrounding it was encircled by a stone wall, too high to climb. Bakura's hands curled into tight fists and he swallowed hard. This was looking worse and worse by the second.

"Relax," he heard Marik said under his breath. Glancing at the blonde boy, he saw that his expression was completely serious, "Honestly, it's fine."

"What's with the security?" Bakura asked him lowly. There were cameras dotted along the top of the wall, he noticed.

"Don't worry," Marik said with a grim smile, "That stuff's there to keep people out, not in."

Bakura did his best to believe this, because it was a small comfort. He looked more closely at the nearing building. It was huge – only slightly smaller than their school – and very modern-looking. All glass window-walls and shiny metal. It sprawled out further than the average large building because it was split into only two floors. It might not have looked quite so intimidating if it had been split over three or four.

The driver pulled up at the end of a long gravel path that led to what was apparently the main entrance. Bakura saw the doors had the same logo above them as the one on the side of the bus. _Great._

The zombie kids limped and lumbered their way outside before dragging themselves at various speeds towards the building. Malik reached it first, but hovered just before the doors, clearly waiting for his brother. Bakura doubted he was waiting for him too.

"You need to tell me what I'm doing here before I go any further," he said stonily with his most stubborn frown. Marik shot him a smile that was almost sympathetic.

"I didn't think it'd freak you out this much. Guess I'm so used to it, I don't see the weirdness anymore," he chuckled as he got to his feet, "Come on, you walk, I'll talk."

Bakura was aware that this wasn't _exactly _what he'd demanded, but he figured it was probably the best he was going to get. He stood up reluctantly, a heavy feeling of foreboding in his chest.

"I told you yesterday that we moved here because of Malik, right?" Marik started as they began to walk. They went along almost as slowly as the average zombie to buy more time for explanations.

"Yeah."

"That wasn't a lie. Before yesterday, he hadn't been back to school since he died, and he was starting to go nuts. Hah, funny, huh? Living kids spend all their time complaining about school, but the minute you can't go anymore..."

"Marik."

"Oh, yeah. Anyway, after we did some research, we figured this was the perfect place. Domino High's one of the less murderous schools for dead kids, and Kaiba's real nearby...he wouldn't have had it any other way, though, so I suppose it's just lucky we picked Domino before he picked it for us."

"What's the deal with Malik and Kaiba, anyway?" Bakura asked with a frown. Marik visibly blanched.

"He didn't tell you?" he said apprehensively, "Crap. Sorry, I can't tell you that. That's, like, Malik's...thing."

"...Right?" Bakura said, blinking.

"I can tell you that Kaiba Corp pays for this place, though," Marik said with a sweep of his arm that encompassed the whole complex.

"_What?_" Bakura gaped in open disbelief. That was just...no. Kaiba Corp was _huge_, even by international standards, and probably provided about half the jobs in Domino. People here took _pride _in that company. They knew all the ins and outs of it, every project it was funding, every university it was conducting research with. There had _never _been any mention of some...zombie rehab centre, or whatever this was. There would have been outrage. Hell, there would have been a Kaiba Corp boycott.

"All very secret, of course," Marik said with a smirk, "The world isn't ready for that kind of philanthropy just yet."

"How the _hell _did this place get Kaiba Corp's money?" Bakura asked, still dumbfounded.

"Guess they have a thing for zombies," Marik said vaguely with a shrug, "Besides, it's only a matter of time before the plight of the undead becomes a fashionable cause. When that happens, Kaiba Corp is going to look like the fucking angel of charity."

Bakura shook his head numbly as he tried to process this.

"That still doesn't explain why we're here, though," he said finally. Marik laughed loudly.

"I was getting to that!" he said, "I'm here because I live here. We told you we were taking you to our place."

"You _live _here? With...them?"

"Yes, I live here with my zombie brother and all his little zombie friends," Marik confirmed with another grin.

"But..._why?_"

"Oh, did I miss out that part?" Marik said with a distinctly fake expression of innocence, "Our family runs this slick operation. The Ishtar clan has become like the Undead Liberation Squad, no joke. Gotta admit, it's pretty awesome."

Bakura blinked dumbly. The scale of this..._thing _he'd walked into just grew and grew.

"This is the second centre we've opened," Marik went on with noticeable pride in his voice, "Big sis is still back home, running the first one like the dictator she is. With any luck, these babies'll be popping up all over the country over the next few years."

At this point, Bakura pretty much gave up on absorbing all this new information. He filed it at the back of his mind to be considered in greater detail later, and went on to ask the one question he really wanted the answer to now.

"And why am I here?"

"Because you love me?" Marik suggested, rolling his eyes. Bakura gave him his best 'so not in the mood' look.

"This place isn't _just _for zombies, y'know," Marik said, "Sure, there's the scientific side of things - doctors and biologists and stuff studying the dead kids and trying to figure out just what the hell makes them tick. But the whole point of the program we run here is, and I quote, 'to promote tolerance and understanding of the differently biotic'. Basically, 'to give the living and the dead a hard kick up the ass until they talk to each other'. It's tougher getting the breathers through the door, though."

Bakura was still lost.

"And I'm here because...?" he said uncertainly.

That sympathetic smile returned to Marik's face, and Bakura couldn't help but feel uneasy.

"Because you can't just ignore the dead," Marik said at length, fixing his eyes straight ahead, "They're here. So you might as well learn a little about them."

Bakura stared at him.

"We usually wait for people to volunteer to join the program," Marik admitted, sounding almost apologetic, "But...you're a special case."

"I'm a _what...?_"

But just then, they reached the building and Malik, and Bakura knew the conversation was over. The blonde zombie looked at him coolly from half-lidded eyes.

"Did you bring him up to speed?" he asked his brother, "He still looks...brain-dead."

"You of all people really shouldn't call anyone brain-dead," Marik replied, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, "I gave him the basic gist."

"Really?" Malik said blandly, raising an eyebrow.

"...I didn't quite get around to telling you what we actually do here, though, Bakura," Marik said, blinking as this rather crucial detail occurred to him. Malik snorted.

"That's why he hasn't run away...screaming like a girl, then," he said with a smile distinctly lacking in warmth. Bakura, who felt he'd been abused quite enough for one day, felt his temper come to the boil.

"What is your _problem _with me today?" he snarled. The only thing keeping him from grabbing Malik by the front of the shirt and smashing his face in was the fact that Malik was _dead _and he didn't like to touch _dead things. _

"My problem?" Malik repeated, face twisting into a sneer (Bakura had _never _seen a zombie pull a face like that), "I found out you're just as...bad as the rest. You're...pathetic. I can't stand you."

Without elaborating on the exact nature of Bakura's crimes, he turned and stalked away, disappearing through the tinted glass doors.

"What...the hell..." Bakura ground out, glaring at nothing since Malik wasn't there for him to glare at.

"Don't worry about him," Marik said, shaking his head, "He'll cool off. He just gets really mad about...that stuff."

"_What _stuff?" Bakura demanded, "What the hell did I _do_?"

"It's like I said," Marik said with an awkward shrug, "You're here because you shouldn't..._can't_ ignore the dead. Especially if...uh...it's someone you know..."

Bakura stared at him for a long moment, absolutely certain that he could feel his insides shrivelling up and turning to dust.

"This..." he started, appalled by how hoarse his voice was, "This has something to do with Ryou."

"Ouch," Marik said with a wince that was only half-joking, "You got me."

"What..._why?_" Bakura demanded, aghast. He took a few steps back from the building – was Ryou in there right now? Was he watching with blank eyes from behind those doors? What kind of surreal set-up was this?

"Calm down," Marik said, eyeing him almost nervously, as if worried he was going to get violent, "I got talking to him, that's all. He told me a little bit about...y'know, you and him..."

"What are you _talking_ about?" Bakura hissed, "He doesn't speak, he _can't, _he's not..."

He trailed off. Marik raised an eyebrow at him.

"'Not Ryou'?" he suggested, "I figured you might think that. A lot of people do, when someone they know comes back. But that's stupid, man, he's still himself, he's just...dead."

"You say that like it's not a big deal," Bakura said with a humourless, heady laugh.

"Do you miss him?" Marik asked carefully.

"What kind of question is that? We were best friends since like..._forever_..." Bakura growled, fisting one hand in his own hair in frustration, "But...he _died_, he..."

"He came back," Marik said with another shrug.

"But..."

"Look, you don't have to talk to him today," the blonde said, throwing his hands up, "Just getting through the door is a big step in the right direction. But if you want to be a pussy about it, just go back to the bus. You're not a prisoner here, the driver'll take you home if you ask him."

Bakura narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, waiting for the catch.

"I think you'd end up regretting that, though," Marik said bluntly, "You'd regret that you didn't even _try_. But the bus is there. I'm not gonna drag you in here. If you decide to grow a pair, I'll be waiting inside."

With that, he, like Malik before him, turned away and disappeared through the doors, leaving Bakura standing alone on the gravel.

He groaned despondently to himself, shoving his hands in his pockets and craning his neck backwards to squint up at the sky. How the hell did he get himself into these things?

Fucking twins. His life had been just _fine _until they showed up, fine and relatively normal and...yes, kind of insipid and dull, but...

He paused mid-thought. That was his problem right there. His life had been normal (as normal as it could be, given the circumstances), but that didn't mean he was _happy _with it. Hell. He couldn't even remember being happy.

(No, wait, he could – he'd been happy (more or less, most of the time) right up until that day, right up until that _moment _when he'd got out that car and then less than a minute later it had been turned into scrap metal-)

Now, his life was just...boring. Kind of empty and aimless. He'd become apathetic, he realised. Working his way from day to day, but never really caring about anything or anyone. Just drifting through, letting time pull him along, never savouring one minute of it.

He was alone. He was _lonely. _

Holy shit.

He blinked. 'Lonely' wasn't a word he'd ever associated with himself – it conjured up such angst-ridden images. Not to his taste. But he _was, _and he couldn't believe he'd never noticed it before. It was like wondering why it was so dark and then remembering you were wearing sunglasses.

He glanced uneasily back towards the building with its stupid sun and the 'D.B.D.P.' above the doors. Ok, so he was bored. (And lonely.) But was _this _the answer...?

_(Ryou. Can I be near Ryou? Look at Ryou? Ryou's dead Ryou's gone- dead gone dead gone, aren't those the same thing? No not anymore, now we have dead-but-not-gone Ryou, Ryou on the grass outside my room, Ryou kneeling dead in the rain, scary scary- scared?)_

He realised he had started pacing agitatedly back and forth like someone on the verge of a nervous breakdown. This was frying his brain. Had Marik really talked to Ryou? Had _Ryou _really talked to Marik? Sometimes Bakura was almost completely convinced that he had imagined Ryou saying his name that first night he came back, since he didn't seem to have said much since. So...was it really possible...?

He supposed that, if they were working on the assumption that all zombies were the same, it _was _possible. After all, Malik was living...no, dead proof that the 'differently biotic' were more than capable of intelligent (and thoroughly irritating) conversation.

"_You're...pathetic. I can't stand you."_

Bakura growled lowly, forcing himself to stop pacing. Malik was turning out to be a royal pain in the ass. He didn't seem to comprehend the effect that he and the others like him had on the living. Malik didn't have to deal with the _fear _of them – that feeling of not knowing just what the hell you were talking to. It was easy for Malik. He was just dead.

Bakura groaned and covered his eyes with one hand. Had he really just thought that?

Then again, Marik seemed to have the same attitude. Like being afraid of the zombies was stupid and irrational.

Bakura sighed irritably. He didn't agree with the twins' reasoning (not remotely), but there was no way in hell that he'd let them think, in their twisted and skewed way of thinking, that he was a coward.

That was the reason he was going in there. The only reason.

_(Sure.)_

Straightening his shoulders like a soldier marching into battle, he reached out and hauled one of the glass doors open.

* * *

_**Weehee, end.**_

_**Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the pilot chapter – Lady Blackwell, James Birdsong, sunokofairytale, Elle-L, Teddy. syn, not the usual baka, Illusion's Sword, Deathly Hollow, Bec, MemoriesOfBetrayal, Calm Envy, ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb, tenchibaka, Seren147, Rugged Individual, mystralwind, Anime-fan Meepa, Jimbo'sAkimbo, StrawberryAshes and Goddess of the Black Moon. Zombie love for you.**_

_**And of course extra thanks to Lady Blackwell, who once again did an awesome beta-ing job and remained patient even when we discovered that I know less about the American school system than the American school system knows about me :) **_

_**Chapter 3 is underway but my next update will definitely be chapter 21 of 'Homecoming'. I hope.**_

_**Review?**_

_**Fiver x**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

'_**One by one, only the good die young.' – 'No One But You', Queen**_

"_Marik."_

_At the sound of his name, the blond teen looked up reluctantly from the TV to see his older brother leaning against the doorframe._

"_Yeah?" he replied, fumbling for the remote to pause the movie he was watching instead of doing homework. He figured he deserved a little chill-out time. The first day at a new school was always going to be stressful, even without a zombie brother to keep an eye on. And said zombie brother had been on a complete tirade regarding that moron cookery teacher ever since they got home. Marik had only managed to extract himself from the epicentre of Hurricane Malik a very short time ago, and he shot the eldest Ishtar sibling a look he hoped would communicate the fact that he really didn't want to be disturbed right now._

"_That new kid you and Malik brought in today..." Rishid started, ignoring or not noticing his look._

"_Ryou."_

"_Yes. We've been trying to get some background information on him – you know, to see if we can trace any family or friends – but he's not being very...forthcoming."_

"_Uh," Marik said with a blank look. "He's not like Malik, y'know. If you're firing questions at him, chances are he just can't keep up..."_

"_We did take that into account," Rishid assured him, sounding mildly exasperated that his younger sibling would think he'd make such a basic mistake. "He just...isn't talking to us."_

"_Really?" Marik said in surprise, shifting onto his knees and leaning his arms against the back of the sofa. "That's weird, he didn't seem like the bitchy type."_

"_I don't think that's it," Rishid said patiently, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in an involuntary smile. "He seems suspicious. Intimidated by us, almost."_

"_Oh," Marik said thoughtfully. "So he's the shy type. That makes more sense."_

_Rishid rolled his eyes at his brother's oh-so-deep speculation._

"_What?" Marik protested. "It does make sense. I don't think the breathers around here have exactly been smothering him in love since he died. Judging by how slow he is, I'd say he's all alone."_

"_Or maybe he just came back."_

"_Maybe."_

"_Anyway," Rishid said briskly, rattling the conversation along. "I wondered if you'd go talk to him."_

_Marik blinked. He was losing interest in this movie by the minute._

"_Me?" he said, puzzled._

"_You spoke to him at school, didn't you? And convinced him to come here?" Rishid pointed out. "You got his name, at least. And he might be more comfortable around someone from his own peer group."_

_Marik almost laughed at that – not many breathers would consider any zombie to be part of the same 'peer group' as them._

"_Yeah, but...if he's scared of us beating hearts, wouldn't Malik be a better choice?" he questioned. "He's like our undead liaison officer."_

_Rishid's forehead creased at his use of the word 'undead' but for once he refrained from reprimanding him._

"_Malik has already tried," he said, shaking his head in slight bewilderment. "It was bizarre. I thought he...Ryou...would be fine with another differently biotic kid. But..." he gave a short, nervous laugh, "He sure wasn't. He does __**not **__want to talk to Malik. That became clear pretty quickly."_

"_Seriously?" Marik said with another blink. "That is weird."_

"_So will you give it a try?"_

"_Sure, I guess," Marik said with a shrug, getting to his feet. "After all, I'm well-known for my tact and delicacy."_

"_Indeed," Rishid said dryly as he led him towards the residential area of the complex. "Please try not to call him a 'zombie' or anything equally offensive."_

_It was Marik's turn to roll his eyes. His brother took political correctness to a whole new level. He didn't seem to understand that the important thing was that Marik __**did not hate dead kids. **__As long as they knew that, they didn't really care what he called them. 'Zombie' just sounded snappier than 'differently biotic'. There was nothing spiteful about it._

"_That's his room over there," Rishid said, pointing to one of many doors set into the wall of the corridor._

"_Ok," Marik said absently._

_He knocked, feeling oddly formal, before pushing the door open and going inside._

_He liked the rooms the Centre provided for the dead kids. They were quite small, but in a cosy sort of way. The beige carpeting and cream walls were a little plain, but the kids were encouraged to decorate as they liked with posters and photos and things. If they were going to be here for a long time, it was best they made themselves feel at home. Each room came equipped with a wardrobe, a few shelves, a desk with a lamp and a bed. The bed was sort of superfluous, since zombies didn't sleep, but Marik figured they liked being comfortable as much as the next living person. And even if they didn't get tired, they probably had times when they just wanted to lie down and do nothing._

_Ryou was sitting on the edge of his new bed, the soft peachy lamplight lending his ghostly face some colour. At Marik's entrance he raised his head slowly to look at him. If he'd been capable of more delicate, nuanced expressions, his look would probably have been questioning._

"_Hey," Marik said with a small smile, closing the door behind him. "Heard you were getting interrogated. Sorry, we should've warned you about that before we dragged you here."_

_Ryou didn't reply, though he hitched one shoulder slightly in what might have been a shrug._

"_What do you think of the place, though?" Marik asked, grabbing the chair out from under the desk and sitting backwards on it, folding his arms across its back. "Pretty cool, huh? We've got so many dead kids here already that if they decided they wanted our brains, we wouldn't stand a damn chance."_

_Oops. His politically correct facade had crumbled already. Luckily, Ryou's only response was an upward twitch of the left side of his mouth – the same lopsided smile he'd offered in class earlier that day. Marik relaxed, breathing a silent sigh of relief._

"_But the guys asking you all the questions, they're ok, really," he went on. "They have this theory that the more they know, the more they can help. I mean, no one's going to...y'know, hurt you here. If that's what you're worried about."_

_Ryou remained silent. He hadn't said anything beyond his name at school, either, but Marik had assumed that was because he and Malik had prevented him from getting a word in edgeways. Now, he was already mentally kicking Rishid for sending him in here. What made him think __**he **__would have any more success than...?_

"_You're...alive."_

_He jumped when the dead boy suddenly spoke. (Well...maybe 'suddenly' wasn't the right word.) Ryou was looking at him intently, though whether the intensity was deliberate or not was open for debate._

"_Uh, yeah," Marik replied, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "But hey, I won't always be, right?"_

_He started to laugh before noticing that Ryou was still trying to speak. He winced, realising that he hadn't been finished. Contrary to popular opinion, Marik was not the most experienced at dealing with the slowest zombies. He found it difficult to strike a balance between not constantly talking over them (like now) and not being so 'patient' with them that it seemed patronising. Sure, Malik had been this slow (maybe even slower) when he'd first come back, but it wasn't like Marik had been around him much at that time. He squirmed inwardly as the memory gnawed at his insides._

"_So...why...be...nice...to me?" Ryou managed to ask at length. His speech was very halting, and looked like it took serious effort. Marik realised he was getting too accustomed to being around Malik and the other fast zombies. He'd forgotten how much they struggled in the beginning._

"_Aw, hell," he replied with a frown. "Do I need a reason? Not all breathers are complete jerk-asses."_

"_No one...was...ever...nice," Ryou said, forming each word carefully and deliberately. He was slow, but his voice was clear as a bell, which was more than could be said for some other dead kids._

"_No one, huh?" Marik said with real sympathy. That was pretty shitty. He was distantly ashamed of his fellow beating hearts._

_Ryou shook his head jerkily._

"_You got any family, Ryou?" Marik asked carefully. He had the bizarre urge to just go and hug the kid, but he wasn't sure how well that would go down._

_Another head-shake. Marik knew from experience that this either meant the family was dead, or had skipped town and left their dead child behind._

"_What about friends? Anyone we can call for you?"_

_Ryou was silent for an impossibly long time. Marik suspected it wasn't only due to his general slowness. _

"_You..." the white-haired zombie started finally, "Know...Bakura."_

_Marik started at the unexpected name._

"_Bakura?" he repeated. "Touzoku?"_

_Ryou gave a small nod, not once looking at him._

"_Yeah, I know him," Marik said dubiously. "You too?"_

_There was another spiralling silence. Ryou was clearly at a stage of undeath where he still struggled to express much feeling, but his pale face became decidedly miserable during those quiet minutes, which hinted at some fairly intense emotions beneath the surface. The pieces started to come together in Marik's head. After all, he'd heard the same story time and time again._

"_He didn't like it when you came back?" he ventured tentatively._

"_Won't...look...at me," Ryou said tonelessly, staring out at nothing. "Hates me."_

_Marik nodded in mute understanding. Same old. He was surprised at Bakura, though. Surprised he hadn't at least __**mentioned **__this when they'd been having a very zombie-orientated conversation that very morning._

"_He...was...my best...friend."_

"_Aw, man..." Marik mumbled, raking a hand through his hair. No matter how many times he heard this stuff from the dead kids – __**my best friend, my mom, my brother**__ – it never got any easier to listen to. He never knew what to say, either. It wasn't like there were any massively comforting assurances he could offer. In about ninety-nine percent of cases, the people who abandoned these kids were never going to have a change of heart._

"_Wish...I never...came...back," Ryou said softly._

"_Don't say that," Marik said in alarm._

"_Why...not?" Ryou asked with another twitchy half-shrug. "Was so...scared. All...this time...scared. And...no one ever..." _

_He trailed off. Marik sighed and slid off the chair to instead sit next to him on the bed._

"_You've had a rough time, huh?" he said. "When did you...come back?"_

_Even he thought 'when did you die?' sounded a bit harsh._

"_Died...a year...ago," Ryou replied, using the dreaded d-word without a qualm. "Car...accident."_

"_Yeah?" Marik said as nonchalantly as possible. Most of the zombies he knew didn't like it when someone went all bleeding heart and '__**I'm so sorry**__' on them. "You're looking pretty good for a car crash victim."_

_Ryou's almost-smile reached both sides of his mouth this time._

"_Not...so good...on the...inside," he said._

_Marik snorted. He loved the undead's bleak sense of humour._

_There were a number of other things he wanted to ask (including but not limited to: where Ryou had been staying for the past year, who his other friends had been, and why he wouldn't talk to Malik) but he got the feeling the other boy had had just about enough questioning for one day._

"_Listen, things are gonna get better from now on, ok?" he said, getting to his feet. "You're not alone anymore, at least. Trust me, you'll make loads of friends here."_

_Ryou just nodded._

"_And don't let me catch you saying you wish you hadn't come back," Marik said, pointing a threatening finger at him. "That's bullcrap. It's great that you came back. Hell, I'm glad you came back."_

_The look of stunned astonishment that flickered across Ryou's face was sufficient to tell him that no one had ever said that to him before. That was sad._

"_...Thanks," Ryou said at length with another uneven smile. It was oddly cute._

_Marik grinned back before slipping back out into the hallway. Once there, his smile faded._

_Bakura Touzoku. Damn. Things were going to get __**complicated.**_

_Shaking his head, he set off in search of his dead twin to tell him what he'd just found out. _

_He suspected Malik wasn't going to like it._

_

* * *

_

"Hey, look who actually decided to grow a pair!" Marik grinned as Bakura stepped into the lobby. "I'm impressed. Was my little speech really that convincing?"

Bakura didn't reply, opting instead to spend a few moments gaping at his surroundings. The place was a lot less...threatening than he'd imagined. He supposed being told it dealt predominantly with the study of dead kids had caused his mind to automatically conjure up images of some kind of creepy dungeon-come-science-lab, complete with chains, cobwebs and dissected body parts in jars. In reality, it looked more like the entrance to a reasonably-nice hotel. There was a plush cream carpet that he was immediately paranoid about getting dirt on, leather seats and a table of magazines for waiting visitors, and a long desk behind which a few people were fussing with paperwork and answering phones. _Welcome to Hotel Zombie, would you like to check in-?_

Despite the tasteful decor and bright, cheerful lighting, though, Bakura still couldn't help but be distracted by the number of zombies milling (or shuffling, or dragging themselves) about. It felt like some kind of convention. He almost wanted to laugh – a few days ago, passing one zombie on the street would have felt like a big deal. And now here he was, standing in the midst of what was undoubtedly Domino's biggest undead community.

Ryou wasn't here, though. Bakura tried to convince himself that he wasn't _looking _for him but...well. He had his limits. The sight of his dead friend standing in here waiting for him might have been enough to propel him straight back out the door.

"I just have one question," he said abruptly. Marik immediately looked uneasy.

"What's that?" the blond asked.

Bakura turned to him with a perplexed frown.

"If they're 'differently' biotic, what the hell are we?"

Marik blinked a few times before bursting out laughing – partly from relief, it seemed.

"Us? We're plain old trads," he answered. "Traditionally biotic. Sounds boring, huh?"

"Very," Bakura snorted.

Marik opened his mouth to respond but abruptly paused, his attention apparently diverted. Turning to follow his line of vision, Bakura noticed a tall youth with a slight limp coming towards them.

"That's Ryuji," Marik said out of the corner of his mouth. "Don't comment on his sense of fashion."

Bakura wasn't sure why he wasn't allowed to comment on it, but he could see why he might have. For the most part Ryuji looked fairly normal; he had long black hair pulled back into a pony-tail, and his clothes, though slightly flamboyant, were nothing to write home about. But the most striking aspect of his appearance was the mask that covered the left side of his face. It bisected his forehead before curving to avoid his nose and mouth and coming round to curl over his ear. It was white, like a comedy mask, but embellished with an intricate design in red and black – apparently to make it match his outfit. It reminded Bakura of the Phantom of the Opera.

"Hey, Marik," Ryuji said as he reached them. "Who's...your friend?"

Bakura had already steeled himself for the (highly likely) possibility that Ryuji was dead, but having it confirmed up-close still gave him something of a jolt. He wondered if meeting a dead kid would ever become 'normal' to his mind.

"This is Bakura," Marik said, jabbing a thumb in his direction. "Our newest recruit."

"Poor guy," Ryuji said dryly – as usual, Bakura couldn't tell if his deadpan (_oh god inappropriate) _tone was intentional or not. Up close, he saw the other boy had bright green eyes, almost as piercing as Malik's. (But not _quite._) He felt uncomfortably exposed when they flicked to him.

"They're about...to start through there...by the way," Ryuji went on, jerking his head inexpertly towards a nearby door. "You should...be there, Marik. Malik seemed...pretty nervous."

"Heh, I'll tell him to take a deep breath," Marik said with a grin. Ryuji shook his head, but didn't seem to take any offence. His mask hadn't budged the whole time. Bakura wondered if it was held on with double-sided tape.

"Guess we better get in there," Marik said, grabbing Bakura by his sleeve and starting to pull him along. "See you later, Ryuji."

He pushed the appropriate door open and Bakura saw it led into a hallway that was as stunningly un-scary as the lobby.

"...So what's with the mask, exactly?" Bakura asked uncertainly as Marik led him down this very normal wooden-floored, cream-walled hallway.

"Well, it's sure not for decoration," Mariku replied without turning around. "Don't forget that death can be pretty nasty. Not everyone gets through it unscathed."

Bakura didn't ask him to elaborate any further. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know what that mask was hiding.

"What was he talking about?" he asked instead. "What's Malik nervous about? Dare I ask?"

"The Program officially starts in Domino today," Marik said absently, appearing more concerned with hurrying towards their destination. "So I guess this is 'orientation'. You'll get some more information about what you're letting yourself in for."

"And Malik...?"

He never got an answer, because just then Marik pushed a set of double doors open and Bakura found himself in what looked like a small lecture hall. There were several rows of seats, divided into two sections by an aisle down the middle. The seats on the left seemed to be predominantly filled by adults, some alone and others in family groups of varying sizes. No one seemed to be talking much. They seemed oddly tense. However, their quietness was nothing compared to the smothering silence on the right side of the room. That was where the zombies were sitting.

Bakura swallowed hard. He counted twelve of them. Not a living kid among them – definitely not. No group of living kids had ever sat so quietly and composedly. Living kids stretched and fidgeted and, generally, showed an iota of interest in their surroundings. None of the dead kids had so much as twitched.

Ryou wasn't there. Bakura decided to count that as a small blessing, but he was starting to wonder exactly where his dead friend was.

At the front of the room there was a podium, behind which there loomed a large electronic screen with the word 'WELCOME' glowing in somewhat intimidating blocky letters. Malik was standing slightly to the side, next to a tall man with a shaved head whom Bakura didn't recognise.

"I'll be back in a sec," Marik said quietly, shooting Bakura a quick don't-be-scared-while-I'm-gone smile. "Even the dead need moral support."

He made his way over to his brother, leaving Bakura alone at the back of the hall. Feeling very exposed all by himself, he looked around awkwardly for a place to sit down, but couldn't decide whether he belonged with the kids who were his own age (but dead), or the adults. In the end he opted to remain standing. It was a plan of action no one could construe as a statement against either side of the divide.

He saw the twins fall into deep, muttered conversation. Malik kept shaking his head and Marik clasped his shoulder, as if in reassurance. His ability to touch the zombies without fear or hesitation really amazed Bakura, perhaps more than it should have. Then Marik said something that made his dead twin scowl and thump him on the chest, whilst Marik just laughed. Maybe he really had told Malik to take a deep breath, in preparation for whatever he was about to do.

"...Miho..."

Bakura blinked as a small voice resounded through the almost silent room. A child's voice. Scanning the seats on the left, he saw a little girl sitting on her mother's lap. The mother was trying to distract her but the girl's eyes were fixed raptly on the right-hand side of the room.

"Miho!" she repeated in a whine, more loudly this time. "Mommy, look, it's Miho! We're over here, Miho, look, look, look!"

"_Shush_," the mother said sternly – almost frantically. "Be quiet."

"But..." the girl started to protest, trying to wriggle out of her grip. "But I wanna see, I wanna..."

The zombies had remained motionless throughout this exchange but now, slowly (_so _slowly, jerkily, painfully), one of them – a dead girl with her faded lilac hair tied up in a yellow ribbon – turned her head in the child's direction. She didn't say anything. She didn't smile.

"Miho!" the little girl squawked again when she saw she had her attention. "Mommy, I wanna go sit with her-"

"_No._"

"Why not? I wanna see Miho, I missed her, I wanna-"

She cut herself off with a startled squeal when her mother suddenly grabbed her wrist and jerked her to her feet before standing up and striding briskly towards the door, dragging the girl behind her.

"_No mommy no I wanna see Miho why can't we see Miho?_" the little girl started to howl and cry as she was hauled along. She resisted the whole way, struggling with all her tiny might to get back to the girl with the ribbon in her hair. _"Miho make her stop, __**Miho..!**__"_

The dead girl followed her with her eyes but didn't move. Maybe she couldn't.

Bakura stole an awkward glance at the child's mother (who, he realised dismally, was probably the dead girl's mother too) as she passed. She was stony-faced and red-eyed, and he got the feeling she wasn't coming back.

The door slammed shut, but the little girl's wailing could still be heard for several minutes, getting progressively quieter as she was led away.

The silence seemed more intense after that.

"Holy shit," Marik mumbled, suddenly appearing back at Bakura's side. "They better get this thing rolling soon. People are getting seriously riled up."

As if agreeing with this sentiment, the man next to Malik chose that moment to step up to the podium.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," he said with a calm smile, as if a member of his audience hadn't just stormed from the room. "I'd like to thank you for being here today. As most of you already know, my name is Rishid Ishtar, and I am the program leader here at the DBDP."

He paused, slowly sweeping the room with his eyes, as if committing everyone present to memory. The halt didn't seem to cause him to lose anyone's attention – he emitted a steady aura of quiet strength and gravity, and it held everyone rapt.

"I know this is the part where I'm supposed to introduce you to some scientists and 'experts' who will make an attempt to explain the differently biotic phenomenon to you and try to convince you to take part in our Program here," Rishid went on, that same mild smile still curving his mouth. "However, although we are supported here by a worthy and dedicated science team, I do not believe that anyone can yet consider themselves an 'expert' on the differently biotic. I am sure that some of you will have read one or more of the books currently available on the subject. I hope you found them entertaining, because entertainment is all they provide. I'm afraid the literature regarding the differently biotic at the present time is, at best, uninformed. These books are simply a conglomeration of rumour, conspiracy theories and the author's own opinion, be it good or bad. There are no _facts. _There is nothing to be learned from them."

He paused again, and Bakura thought it seemed deliberate this time – as if he were building up the suspense.

"I myself am of the opinion that the only people from whom we can learn about the differently biotic are the differently biotic themselves," Rishid said conclusively. "Which is why today, instead of presenting you with a scientist, I'd like to introduce you to my brother. He has what I imagine is some quite reliable information for you."

There was a polite spattering of applause from the living members of the audience, though they all looked confused as to how Rishid's brother was going to be able to tell them anything half-way reliable when scientists apparently couldn't.

Then Malik stepped up to the podium, and they fell silent in stunned understanding. Bakura could have sworn he heard someone gasp, like in some kind of trashy soap opera. It was clear that, although all these people had presumably agreed to come here, none of them had been expecting to be made to sit and listen to a dead kid.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bakura saw Marik's hands curl into fists. He got a feeling that, if anyone else tried to walk out at this point, they were going to regret it.

Bakura remembered what Ryuji had said about Malik being nervous. As the dead boy stood under the bright lights at the front of the room, he sure didn't look nervous. Unfortunately, he didn't look anything else, either. His face was beyond expressionless, features rigid and utterly non-emotive. There was just..._nothing. _Bakura shuddered involuntarily. Despite the efforts Malik had made already today, Bakura thought this was the first time he'd seen him really look like a zombie.

"Fuckity fuck, he's blanked out," Marik muttered under his breath. "Come _on, _Malik..."

There was no way Malik could have possibly heard him, but by chance he caught his twin's eye just then. Marik grinned at him and mouthed _'kick some ass!'_

Bakura wasn't sure of Malik's lip-reading ability, but either way, the gesture seemed to help him get a hold of himself. His features softened, appearing pliable and human and normal again, and some of the tension left the room.

"...Hey," Malik said finally. His voice came out clear and steady, and he braced his arms casually against the lectern. "So, I'm Malik. You might have noticed, but I'm kind of dead."

He took a moment to indicate to the slogan on his t-shirt, which was something of a dead give-away.

_Dead give-away. _Bakura gritted his teeth to keep himself from sputtering with nervous laughter.

"I...think it was Jimi Hendrix who said 'It's funny the way most people love the dead. Once you're dead, you're made for life'," Malik went on, mouth curving into a smile that was distinctly less benevolent than Rishid's had been. "If I'm honest, I think if Jimi Hendrix was differently biotic, he might change his mind about that. These days, people find it very...difficult to love the dead. The walking dead, anyway. The zombies. Me. Us."

A few people visibly flinched at the word 'zombie'. Even Rishid frowned disapprovingly in the background.

"We...are not loved," Malik said flatly, picking up the controller for the screen behind him and pushing a button. "Not by...the majority of people."

Almost every living person in the room physically recoiled from the grainy photograph that appeared on the screen. It showed an undead boy of about fourteen, lying on the ground surrounded by (presumably living) people in masks. The boy was covered in horrific wounds, though it wasn't clear whether these had been the cause of his death or if they had been inflicted after his return. One wound in particular was clearly posthumous, however: the boy's stomach had been slit wide open, spilling his bloodless entrails onto the dusty ground beneath him. One of the masked figures was taking aim at his head with a shotgun.

Malik didn't comment on the picture. He probably thought (quite correctly) that it spoke for itself.

"But you're all here because...someone you love is a zombie. Or differently biotic, if you prefer," Malik corrected himself with a small shrug, perhaps noticing the strain his choice of words was putting on people. "Your child, or a sibling, or maybe a niece or nephew. Or a friend, even."

Bakura could have sworn the dead boy's eyes flicked to him for the briefest of seconds as he said that, but it could have just been the messy feeling of guilt screwing with his head.

"You're here because...you haven't been with them since they died," Malik continued. "But they've told us that they want to be with you. Or that they at least...want you to acknowledge them. And I guess...it's my job to convince you to do that."

Bakura started when a few of the seated dead kids gave jerky nods of apparent approval.

"So I suppose you all want me to give you some...information. You probably want me to tell you 'what' we are. What we become after we die..." Malik trailed off. He was speaking slowly, but as if he were reflecting rather than struggling to get the words out. "I...can only speak from my own experience. I think death...is different for everyone, just like life. But I think that the one thing every death...and return from death...has in common is that it's...scary. I'm sure it's scary for those left behind, too. Fear...was probably a big factor when you turned your dead loved ones away. We are...different and new and by all regular standards, we make no sense. That makes us frightening. But maybe the most important thing I can tell you is...that we're scared too. We do not know what we are any more than you do."

He gave everyone a moment to let this sink in.

"I know that many...'traditionally biotic' people believe that we are just...shells," he said, sounding as if having to use such a politically correct term for the living was causing him physical pain. "Reanimated bodies without...well. Some people would call it a soul, I guess. They don't think we come back...the same. They say the person they knew is gone. Because newlydeads are..."

Someone in the audience made an odd choking sound. Bakura wasn't sure if it was restrained laughter or just a noise of complete shock.

"...Sorry. I don't think we have a politically correct term for recently-returned zombies yet," Malik said, looking amused. "Anyway. Newlydeads are slow. Some can be...almost completely unresponsive. They struggle with movement. They struggle even more with speech. They can't express themselves...and so people assume that they can't think. Or feel."

A few people shifted uncomfortably under Malik's intense gaze. Bakura was one of them.

"I think...the best way I can explain it...is to say that returning from death is sort of like being born all over again," Malik went on thoughtfully. "A baby can't speak...or control its movements. Its body is unfamiliar to it. We're a lot like that. We come back, and it's as if...our bodies have been given a whole new set of controls. We have to re-learn...everything. It's hard. And it's all the worse because...unlike a baby...we are completely aware of the world around us. We see and hear everything, we...process everything. In here..." he tapped his left temple with his finger, "we are so alive."

Bakura was starting to find it hard to concentrate on what Malik was saying. His stomach had tied itself into what felt like a knot of mind-boggling intricacy, and it was getting very distracting.

"But...with help, we can get better," Malik said conclusively. "Returning from death is only step one. 'Coming back' is...a long process. And we can't do it alone. Facts and figures about what brings us back are thin on the ground. But...there's no doubt that the differently biotic who are surrounded by...family or friends do better. A lot better."

Another pause – almost like a challenge. _You can make them better. Why don't you? Why wouldn't you? What kind of heartless bastards are you-?_

"...That's all I can tell you, really," Malik said with another shrug. "It's up to you now. I hope we'll be seeing you all again."

With that he stepped down from the lectern and went to stand at the side again. Everyone's eyes seemed to follow him.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," Rishid said with almost affected lightness, taking centre stage once again. He immediately took the controller Malik had left behind and got rid of the grisly image still glaring from the screen. "The Program's first meeting will be on Thursday at four PM. The usual routine is that we will begin with a group chat, which will hopefully help us all understand each other a little better, before putting you into your own family groups to allow you to discuss more private issues. As Malik said, we hope to see you then. Thank you for your time today."

"...That's it?" Bakura said in surprise as the living audience began hastily snatching up their things and making a dash for the door.

"We believe in easing people in gently," Marik said with a smile which, unusually for him, lacked humour. "Not that it makes much difference. Most of these bastards won't be back. Pathetic."

Bakura couldn't help but agree with him – the room emptied of trads so quickly it was quite embarrassing. However, one elderly man hung behind. He was smartly dressed and sported a very impressive grey moustache. He was dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief.

"Hm. This is promising," Marik said quietly enough that only Bakura could hear.

The man approached the right-hand side of the room uncertainly. The zombies had started to make their faltering way out of the room. The faster and more flexible ones helped their less able companions. It was oddly sweet – they seemed to support each other in a way that living kids rarely, if ever, did. One of them remained seated, though, apparently for the benefit of the awkwardly hovering old man. A young girl, Bakura gathered from the blond pigtails on either side of her head. He couldn't discern much else about her from behind.

"Rebecca..." the man said softly. He looked as though he was still at risk of being overwhelmed by emotion at any given moment. That moustache was positively quivering.

"Is everything alright?" Rishid asked pleasantly, coming to stand beside him.

"I...Y-yes. Arthur Hawkins, pleased to meet you," the elderly gentleman said, offering a hand for Rishid to shake. "Rebecca is my granddaughter. She..." he trailed off, looking about as messed up and conflicted as Bakura felt. "You say she can hear me?"

"Unless she was...deaf when she was alive," Malik drawled from a short distance away. Arthur jumped slightly at his voice before turning to him.

"I should congratulate you, young man," he said with a shaky, unsure smile. "You speak very well for-"

"For a dead person?" Malik finished for him blandly. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"I was going to say 'for someone so young'," Arthur corrected him, eyes crinkling as his smile grew. "I was a teacher in my day, you know. And there was nothing my students dreaded more than giving a spoken presentation. You did very well. That must have been frightening."

"...Oh," Malik said. Bakura couldn't help but smirk slightly at seeing the blond zombie looking so completely taken-aback. "Thanks..."

"Come on," Marik said suddenly, tugging at Bakura's elbow. "I don't think Grandpa Hawkins needs an audience for this little reunion."

They left the room and, after a few moments of hanging around in the hallway, Malik joined them.

"Hey," Marik greeted him with a grin. "Nice work in there. We should put you on our recruitment posters. The DBDP wants _YOU!"_

"Their faces were funny when they saw the photo," Malik replied tonelessly. "You'd think they didn't know stuff like that happened."

"It doesn't happen around here, does it?" Bakura asked, fighting to keep the nervousness from his voice. The zombies made him pretty uncomfortable, but the thought of them getting _slaughtered _wasn't especially appealing to him.

"...Not yet," Malik deigned to reply, eyeing him pointedly. "But all it takes is...y'know, a moron or two."

"Aw, come on, don't start," Marik said, rolling his eyes.

"...You were really good in there," Bakura offered. He knew the compliment was likely to go unappreciated, but praise where praise was due, he supposed.

"Gave you something to think about, did I?" Malik snorted, pushing past him and striding away without a backward glance.

* * *

The drive home was, if possible, even quieter than the journey from the school to the DBDP headquarters.

Bakura was the minibus' only passenger. Marik had told him that, once the Program got properly underway, this wouldn't be the case, but for now he had nothing to do except stare out the window. And think.

Marik had given him a whirlwind tour of the building, which he referred to simply as the 'Centre'. (Unfortunately, 'Hotel Zombie' was the name that had lodged itself in Bakura's mind after his dazed first impression of the place.) One wing was composed entirely of science facilities (they hadn't entered that area), whilst everywhere else seemed surprisingly homey. And it seemed that money really was no object when you were being funded by Kaiba Corp – there were rooms overflowing with games consoles, DVDs and art supplies, as well as a small library and a computer suite that looked more advanced than the ones Domino High provided. There was a small kitchen, too – presumably to provide for the catering needs of living visitors. And as Bakura understood it, the Ishtar family home was simply a smaller building attached to the main one by a short hallway.

He hadn't seen Ryou the whole time. He'd thought about asking Marik where he was, but in the end he'd just kept his mouth shut. It wasn't like Ryou's whereabouts really mattered if he wasn't going to do anything about it.

He sighed heavily and leaned his forehead against the bus window. He wasn't feeling overly optimistic about this 'Program'.

After all, if what Malik had said was true, and the dead really _were _a hundred percent aware and just unable to do anything about it, then...well. That made him just about the worst person ever.

* * *

Almost before the bus was even out the gate, Marik went in search of his brother, who seemed to still be in the grip of teenage tantrum-hormones despite being dead. He eventually found him in one of the TV rooms, trying to choose a DVD from the rack. Or possibly pretending to choose a DVD. It was hard to tell when he was in this sort of mood.

"Hey," Marik said, nudging his twin's arm. "You planning on giving Bakura a break any time soon?"

"No," Malik replied bluntly, not even bothering to look at him. Marik rolled his eyes, annoyed but not really surprised.

"Why not?" he demanded. "He came over, he listened to what you said, he agreed to give this thing a shot...I mean, he's _trying_..."

"Oh, he's trying," Malik said with acid in his voice. "Let's give him a...fucking medal, let's just..."

"Malik..." Marik started to growl.

"No, shut up!" Malik snapped, fixing him with a glare that could have struck a weaker soul dead (and possibly reterminate a more delicate zombie). Marik couldn't help but shrink back – the slight height advantage he now had over his brother did absolutely nothing to make Malik any less intimidating when he was pissed.

"Ryou's been dead a year," Malik went on, folding his arms. "And what's Bakura been doing all that time? He's not been...helping him. Best friend, my ass. He left Ryou all alone, even though he was...right there the whole time, even though he sees him every day. Ryou's dead and helpless and...alone and Bakura doesn't have a clue how...fucking...scary that is!"

"Exactly. He _doesn't _have a clue," Marik said. "He didn't do it out of spite. I think you know that. And he's going to learn now and he's going to fix things. I just think you should get off his case a little. Most people would have just told us to go to hell if we tried to reunite them with their zombified friend."

"Whatever," Malik said sulkily, looking away.

"...Just...don't blame Bakura for the things I did, ok?" Marik said carefully. Malik's head snapped around in that jerky, disjointed fashion only the dead could truly master.

"I...I'm not!" he protested. He seemed to be trying for an indignant expression, but whatever he was feeling overwhelmed him and he blanked out for the second time that day. "Don't...talk about that."

"Sorry," Marik said. (For about the millionth time, but it was never going to be enough.)

An awkward silence ensued. The fact that such a thing was almost unheard of between them only made it more uncomfortable.

"...Why do you figure Ryou won't talk to me?" Malik asked at length, glancing up at him with a rare touch of vulnerability in his expression. Marik supposed he must have been hurt by Ryou's rejection – it was tough enough taking shit from the majority of living people without your fellow dead-heads turning on you too.

"It's probably nothing personal," Marik replied, shrugging. "He's really slow, and I think it annoys him. And you're like the Wally West of zombies. He wouldn't be the first one to be kind of...intimidated by that."

"You think he's jealous?" Malik interpreted, raising an eyebrow – a skill he had only recently reacquired and one Marik knew he was rather proud of.

"Something like that, I guess. You shouldn't worry about it."

Malik looked unconvinced but didn't argue. Maybe he wanted to believe it was something that simple.

"...At least he seems to like you," he said finally. "That gives you something to do instead of just goofing around."

"Hey, some people like my goofing around," Marik protested mildly. "And it's not like I'm going to be Ryou's _babysitter._"

"I don't think that's what I said," Malik said, his mouth quirking into a half-smile, which, at the very least, meant that he'd cooled off slightly.

"...Where is he, anyway?" Marik asked.

"I think he had an appointment with the physical therapists this afternoon," Malik replied. "Guess they want to make sure he's technically in working order before they start making him do their dumb exercises. He's probably back in his room now, though."

"Cool," Marik said with a grin. "Well, like you said, I should stop goofing around and take some responsibility. Right?"

Malik watched him leave the room with a faintly amused expression.

"...How cute," he commented to no one, going back to staring at the shelf of movies in front of him.

* * *

_**Wow, I'm sure glad that's over D: Sorry it took so long.**_

_**A big thank you to sunokofairytale, Junki, Elle-L, Like woah, Teddy . syn, Deathly Hollow, Rugged Individual, j bear, StrawberryAshes, SwirlY, tenchibaka, Bec, Frozen Cellophane, Mio-chan's Return, Albino Magpie, LadyBlackwell, earthluva, CocoaDance, louloaxXD, mystralwind, MaaTheDinosaur, Seren147, Annzy and Holly-Sempai. If you guys were zombies, I would totally divide my brains up equally among you :D**_

_**And extra thanks again to the lovely LadyBlackwell for beta-ing and finding my britishisms endearing instead of just annoying :)**_

_**I'm not sure whether my next update will be chapter 4 of this or chapter 23 of Homecoming...I think I've done about an equal amount of work on both at this point o.O So we'll just have to see~**_

_**Review?**_

_**Fiver x**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

'_**You remind me of a time when we were so alive.' – 'Franklin', Paramore**_

Left leg. Right leg. Left leg. Right leg. Left. Right.

Don't fall over.

Bend knees. Bend. BEND.

I walk like Frankenstein. Like movie zombie. Yuck.

Made it - this door, this room...my room? My room. Nice. Not had a room in a while, not since-

Um.

Open door. Concentrate. Lift right hand (so SLOW but left hand even slower), grab handle open door. Door handles so difficult.

Fingers won't work. WOOOOORK-

Got it. Yay. Genius.

Nice room nice. Not much to do but ok, can't do much anyway, haha...

Go to wardrobe. Take handle. Fingers curl, enough but not ENOUGH_, _so annoying. Open. Close. Open and close.

Need practice.

Need to get better.

WANT to get better. Never cared before but do now. No one else cared before. Now...

"Ryou?"

Voice. Turn head. Turn! Now!

Oh God so slow.

Turn. Marik in doorway, Marik smiling. Smiles a lot. Wish could smile back.

(Marik, Marik alive, breather, trad, beating heart, but not scared. Not scared of Malik, not scared of zombie-Ryou. Marik smiles Marik said _'I'm glad you came back'._)

Like Marik.

Try to smile. Probably look stupid.

"What're you doing?" Marik asks. Looks puzzled.

Should probably let go of handle.

Uh-oh. Got fingers to curl, now won't uncurl...

There we go. Only took...don't know. Too long.

"Just wondered if you wanted to do something," Marik says. Given up on finding out what the hell I'm doing. "Your room's still kinda...empty. Thought you might be bored."

Bored. Hard to get bored when can't even walk right. Everything's a CHALLENGE_..._

"I'm...ok."

Ouch that was a big pause. Even my tongue is slow, even voice-box. Even brain.

"You sure?" he asks. "This place isn't all science labs and lecture halls, y'know. We got TV rooms, games rooms, a library..."

Keeps talking but don't hear. First three sound good. Haha brain can only deal with three things at one time anyway.

Library. Like libraries. Quiet. Like reading. Glad I can still read.

Wonder if I look interested. Probably not. Face doesn't move much. Blah.

"Lib...rary?"

BAD. Come on, can usually say one WORD without hitching...

"Yeah," Marik says, smiling again. (Like his smile. Wide happy little bit crazy. Good smile.) "You wanna go see it?"

Nod. Don't want to be a bother but...but...what?

"Ok, come on."

Follow him out room, let him close door. Would take ten minutes for me to do it.

Worried. Hard to walk with a trad. So fast, so easy. Miss walking like that. (Miss a lot of things.)

Need to keep up, wish I could walk normally. Glad hallway is empty. No one to laugh.

Still too slow, so stupid, so useless, knees won't bend bend BEND-

"You gotta bend your knees more."

Stop blink (not really) what? Marik what mind reader now?

Still smiling but not laughing.

"What, you think you're the first zombie to do that?" he says. Don't mind it when he says zombie, doesn't mean it to hurt, kind of like a nickname. "Hell, Malik used to be the master of the knee-lock walk. But don't tell him I told you that."

Malik. (Concentration lost now.) Kind of want to punch Malik. That's not fair, not Malik's fault, but...still want to hit him. Mean zombie-Ryou.

"You need to slow down a little..."

Whaaaaaat. Possible to go any slower?

Must have pulled a face. (Ooh impressive.) Marik laughs.

"I know, that sounds crazy," he says. "But it's true. You need to concentrate on getting the mechanics right first. Then work on speeding up. Doesn't work the other way around."

Hm. Guess that makes sense.

Snail could beat me in a race now.

Feels like bad stop-motion. Jerky. Stupid.

Knees are bending a little more, though.

Still feel stupid. Never usually walk with trads. Embarrassing. Walk worse than a baby. Scared I'll fall over. Can't get up when I fall over. Hate that. Scared panic scared.

Stop.

"...You ok?" Marik asks. Puzzled again. Must think I'm craaa-zyyyy.

"...Fall..."

Brilliant, Ryou. Really.

"What? You won't fall," he says, rolling his eyes. Really is a mind reader, lucky for me. "You're doing fine. Come on."

Reaches out takes zombie-Ryou's hand- WHAT?

Ok REALLY can't concentrate now, crazy crazy, no one ever touched me (not a trad) not since I died wish I could smile wish I could cry wish I could DO SOMETHING. Heart doesn't beat but if it did it'd be going nuts.

Calm down idiot it's not first time, already took both hands in cookery class, helped slice onion.

...That was different.

Can't really feel his hand. Would be nice if I could.

Library isn't too far – lucky, would never have got there if it was.

It's quite small. But...cosy? Nice. Most everything here seems nice.

"I don't come here much, so I don't really know where anything is," Marik says. Makes sense. He doesn't seem like a bookworm. "What kind of books do you like?"

Oh this'll be nice and embarrassing.

"...Um..."

Maybe I should lie?

Crime novels. There, safe option, that's normal, right-?

"...Horror..."

Oh _holy shit. _

I guess lying is too difficult. Requires imagination and speaking. FAR TOO DIFFICULT.

Marik laughs. Of course he laughs. It's FUNNY. Zombies reading horror novels.

"Wow, look who's got a dark side," he says. Still sniggering. "You really like that stuff? Like Stephen King and all those other creepy guys?"

Read every Stephen King book like three times. Maybe shouldn't mention that.

"...Not...books with...zombies. But...others...are...good."

"If you say so." Marik shrugs. Clearly still finding it funny. "I guess books can't seem too scary when the real world has gone so crazy. Hey, librarian! Where d'you keep your creepy books?"

Boy at desk – zombie boy. So many of us here. Run by the dead for the dead. Pffft that's good. Should suggest that as a slogan.

Pay attention.

Boy at the desk is the boy with the mask – Ryuji? Pretty fast. Not as fast as Malik. But Roadrunner compared to stupid slow zombie-Ryou.

Ryuji points. Marik pulls me along. Forgot he was still holding my hand.

Hee.

Shut up, Ryou.

Only a few shelves of horror novels but find one pretty quickly.

(Quickly? Probably the wrong word.)

New Stephen King. Haven't read anything published in the last year. Library card expired when I did.

"Pick a few, if you want," Marik says, leaning against the shelves. Not looking at books. "I think you can take like four at a time."

Nod. Keep looking.

Marik's fidgeting. Wonder if he's bored. Probably. God, breathers just never hold still. Was I like that? Must have been awesome.

"Y'know..." he starts. Surprised by his voice. Not bored. Nervous? "Bakura was here today."

Freeze.

Want to ask _what how why _but can't speak. Really seriously frozen. Rigor mortis back for revenge?

"He's gonna give the Program a shot," Marik goes on while I stand and stare like a dead mannequin. "Me and Malik, we kinda talked him into it. He isn't _great _with the dead kids, like you said, but...y'know, he doesn't wanna set them on fire or anything, either. I think he wants to try and get better. Pretty sure he wants to talk to you. We figured we'd pair you two up for the 'family and friends' part of the meetings and-"

"No."

_NONONONONONONO._

Want to scream it but can't. Wanted to say it sooner but couldn't. Pathetic.

"...No?" Marik repeats, blinking.

"No. N...no." Wow, zombie stutter. That's new. "Not...Bakura. Don't...want to...can't..."

Give up. Can't talk when feeling so much. Zombies don't multi-task well.

"Why not?" Marik asks uncertainly.

"...Not...like this," I manage. "P...please. Not him. Not...like...this!"

Last word comes out CRAZY LOUD. Whole library must have heard. Don't care.

God wish I could cry. Awful not being able to cry. Crying gets the bad feelings out, even a little. But I'm dead. Can't do it. Not even much good at screaming.

"Hey, hey, it's ok," Marik says, sounding alarmed. "You don't have to talk to him if you don't want to. It's ok."

It's not ok.

"Want...to. Miss him. Want...to...so...badly," I say, slowly and jerkily, like a broken robot toy. "But can't...like this. He...hates...me...like this."

God, _I WANT TO CRY._

Just make a weird noise. Kind of a sad noise. That's something, I guess.

"Ryou. Come on, calm down, it's ok..."

Calm down. How do I calm down? Take deeps breaths? Drink a cup of tea? DON'T THINK SO.

Feeling too much. Zone out. Sort of notice Marik taking the book from me. Has to literally pry it from my cold dead fingers.

Arms around me.

...Seriously?

If zombies could dream, I'd think I was dreaming.

"He doesn't hate you, ok?" Marik says. "He's an idiot and he's scared. It's up to you whether you forgive him for that. But you have to know he doesn't hate you."

Just whimper. Want to believe him.

Stand like that a while. Kind of glad we're behind a bookshelf. People would stare and who could blame them?

Had forgotten how nice it feels to be held. Safe. Warm.

Warm?

Can't normally feel warm. Maybe just imagining it, remembering it. Whatever. Feels good.

"You know, I bet you're gonna start getting a _lot _better from now on," Marik muses. "Faster, I mean. I really think you will. You want to wait until then to talk to Bakura?"

"...You think...I'll be...fast?"

"Sure you will. And then you can talk to him, right?"

"...Yeah. That...would be...good."

* * *

Thursday came far too quickly for Bakura's liking.

Even in the all too brief interim period before the dreaded first day of the 'Program', he felt as though every aspect of his life had become connected in some inextricable way to death. Or undeath, as it were. He just wasn't catching a break. Ryou didn't reappear at school (Marik explained that he'd get tutoring at the Centre until he decided he wanted to return to mainstream school) but there was always Malik to act as a constant reminder that the dead were here and weren't planning on going away any time soon. And Malik's cold gaze more than made up for Ryou's absence in the feel-the-guilt department.

Bakura found himself suddenly hyper-aware of Domino High's other differently biotic students, too. While before he'd always done his utmost to just look straight through them and get on with his day, he now often caught himself watching them rather too intently as they shuffled past. His eyes would follow their laboured movements, search their blank faces. And he'd wonder.

Even at home, which should _technically _have been the one place he was safe from the ongoing zombie invasion, he'd felt the strangest impulse to dig around at the back of his closet until he found a battered cardboard box, containing several years' worth of old photographs. Most of these disorganised pictures featured himself and Ryou (and sometimes Jounouchi and Yuugi, too) in happier and simpler days – a forever-ago time when their adult teeth had been new and far too big for their grinning mouths, and when the scrapes on their knees had barely had time to scab over before fresh ones came along, and when they'd apparently been incapable of eating ice cream without turning it into some kind of impromptu dairy face mask.

Flattering? Hardly. Embarrassing? Extremely.

But damn, they sure did look happy.

Bakura was kind of glad he'd had his childhood before the dawn of the digital camera. These glossy, if slightly dog-eared photos were so much _realer _and more meaningful than just another Facebook album. That was part of why he hadn't looked at them since Ryou died. The memories came flooding back so clearly with the merest glance, and it _hurt._

But this time, he didn't shove them back in the closet. He left them lying around his room, and even tacked a few to the wall next to his bed and above his desk. Maybe it was a self-inflicted punishment, now that he knew just how shitty his actions over this past year might have been. He didn't know the exact reason. All he knew was that the pain felt oddly _necessary _now – like a dose of nasty medicine that he had to see through. He hoped that one day he could look at his and Ryou's grinning faces in these pictures and remember those days fondly, instead of feeling sick with heartache.

And just to ensure that he wouldn't get a moment's peace at school, his Wednesday P.E. class (the only class besides Cookery that he shared with Marik) was cancelled with a booming announcement that his year group were to report to the auditorium. Not too devastated at losing out on an hour of soccer, Bakura grabbed his things and followed his classmates. He almost tripped over his own feet, however, when he saw that Rishid Ishtar had centre stage. He looked accusingly at Marik, who just shrugged and grinned, as if he'd simply forgotten to mention this to him.

Once everyone was seated, Rishid gave them all a very similar speech to the one Bakura had heard at the Centre the day before. It seemed that the Program was open to everyone, living or dead, and they were especially eager for young people like themselves to get involved. Rishid dangled the temptation of their participation looking good on college applications in front of them before rounding up and saying that anyone who was interested should come see him before their next class.

"Don't you worry," Marik said cheerily when he noticed Bakura hesitating. "Your name's already been signed in blood."

"Thanks..." Bakura replied dryly. He couldn't help but cast a furtive glance around to see if anyone had heard that. "What's the deal with targeting school-kids, anyway...?"

"Aw, you know, we're the future and all that." Marik waved a hand dismissively. "I guess there are a bunch of other reasons, too. Getting the dead kids' own peers to accept them seems like a logical first step, right? And, in theory, we're less...cemented in our opinions than older people. I'm not so sure about the logic behind that last one, though. I mean, can you think of anything more stubborn and petty than a teenager?"

"Not really." Bakura watched with little surprise as the entire congregation got to their feet and surged for the doors. He wondered if anyone at all would give this thing a try. After all, there were plenty of other things that would look good on a college application. Things that didn't involve zombies and the possibility of becoming a social outcast by association.

"Don't worry," Marik said as they also exited the hall, with the air of someone who'd seen this all before. "There are always a few. Never a lot, but always a few."

* * *

This turned out to be a fairly accurate estimate.

After another uncomfortable walk from their Economics class, Bakura and Malik met up with Marik again and made their way towards the waiting minibus. As they approached, Bakura could see that the dead kids were already sitting inside, but there was a small (a _very _small) crowd of living students standing huddled together on the tarmac, appearing unsure whether they were allowed to enter or not.

"Great turnout," Malik snorted.

"Be grateful for small blessings?" Marik suggested. Neither of them looked particularly dejected by the attendance. Clearly they hadn't expected any better.

Considering Domino High's considerable student body, it did seem a bit pathetic. Bakura counted eight of them and, since he didn't recognise them all from his own grade, he presumed that meant this was all the entire school had to offer. He identified Anzu Mazaki and, to his faint surprise, Yuugi. Apart from that, he knew none of them by name. A few of them looked like goth-types and, although you could never assume, Bakura suspected they were coming along for entirely the wrong reasons.

"What are you guys waiting for, a red carpet?" Marik asked when they reached them. "Get on, they don't bite. That's only in the movies."

"Or, then again, maybe that's what we want you to think," Malik said blandly as both twins stepped on board. Bakura followed them, getting the weirdest feeling that the other trad students were watching him and using him as a test subject to see if it really was safe. Since none of the zombies made a lunge for his jugular (or was that vampires?), everyone eventually got on the bus and sat down.

"Should we wait and see if anyone else shows?" Marik asked.

"No," Malik, who was sitting in the seat in front of him, replied bluntly. "Anyone who was planning on coming...would be here by now. Let's go."

The driver gave a small nod and put the bus into gear, and soon they were on their way.

For a long while, the bus was so silent that it was almost funny. Almost.

"Um..." Bakura turned around at the sudden voice and saw Anzu looking uncertainly at the twins. "Are you guys...in charge?"

"Oh, did no one tell you?" Marik said, twisting around to face her. "That guy who gave you the speech yesterday? Our brother. I'm Marik, that's Malik. Don't worry about the similar names; we're pretty easy to tell apart."

"I'm the dead one," Malik piped up without turning around. Anzu bit her lip and frowned slightly.

"Don't mind him. When he came back he forgot to bring his social skills with him," Marik informed her, rolling his eyes.

"I'm just...letting them know," Malik said. This time he did turn around, with a small smirk tugging at his mouth. Unlike when he was being snappy with Bakura, it seemed that he was only playing this time.

"I'm Anzu," she said, smiling at them each in turn. Her blue eyes shifted around and blinked rather too often, betraying her nervousness, but on the whole she was doing a good job of keeping her cool. Bakura was more impressed than he'd like to admit – perhaps unfairly, he'd always assumed Anzu to be giggly, moronic and more than a little bitchy, purely because he'd never actually spoken to her and simply got the stereotypical movie-high-school-girl vibe from her. Her very presence here today refuted all that, though – being part of this thing took guts. Guts that Bakura was only displaying because he'd been dragged and guilt-tripped all the way here.

"And I'm Yuugi," Yuugi said brightly from next to her, raising one hand in a wave. "It's nice to meet you."

Bakura had to bite back a chuckle. Out of all the trads on the bus (except maybe Marik), Yuugi looked the least nervous about being surrounded by dead kids. But he'd always been like that. Always had a nice word and a thousand-watt smile for everyone.

"So do you know what we'll be doing here today?" Anzu asked. "I-I mean, it's not like I don't know what I've signed up for, it's just that I'm not sure...how things are going to work..."

"It's going to involve a lot of talking," Marik told her. "They like making us talk to each other. They don't really bother with written assignments or anything. The idea is that we learn without knowing that we're learning."

"It doesn't work if you tell them that," Malik put in, sounding mildly exasperated. He and his twin fell into their usual light-hearted bickering, managing to explain a thing or two to Anzu in between.

"...I'm surprised to see you here, Bakura," Yuugi said while the others weren't listening. The moment the words left his mouth his face flushed a deep red as he apparently realised that might not have sounded too complimentary. "Not that I'm not _glad _you're here, but...it's just a little surprising, since there are so few of us and..."

Bakura snorted to himself, knowing what Yuugi was thinking but was far too polite to say. _You hang out with those thugs now, so we all figured you were a thug too. And thugs aren't generally big on learning to be more open-minded._

"Yeah, I'm a little surprised to be here too," he replied at length, shaking his head ruefully.

"...Ryou?" Yuugi asked softly after a pause. The name was like a bullet through the heart, like always.

"Ryou," Bakura managed to confirm with a stiff nod. Yuugi beamed.

"That's _great, _that's..." he started to gush before trailing off, his eyes fixed on something over Bakura's left shoulder. Turning around the follow his line of vision, Bakura saw that they had reached their destination. Apparently he wasn't the only one who found the Centre a little over-awing at first sighting.

_Welcome back to Hotel Zombie. On behalf of all of the undead, we'd like to thank you for choosing us._

Bakura bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. He knew he was going to have to make a concerted effort not to call the place 'Hotel Zombie' out loud now.

Getting everyone off the bus took a while – there were more dead kids than there had been last time. Bakura supposed Domino's differently biotic students had been more eager to sign up for this than their trad counterparts. He wasn't familiar with any of the newcomers, though, except the one who bore an odd resemblance to Yuugi, whom he only knew from the times he'd seen him helping Ryou off the bus. (This was hardly surprising, however – the only zombie he was close to being 'familiar' with was Malik, and that relationship wasn't exactly blossoming.)

They were met at the main doors by Rishid, who offered them all one of his much-needed calm-inducing smiles. He greeted them warmly and asked everyone to follow him. As they were led through the Centre's many hallways, Bakura was quietly pleased to note that all the trad newcomers looked as dumbfounded by the pleasant interior as he had been.

They were eventually ushered into a room – not the same lecture hall Bakura had visited for 'orientation', but what looked like a large, informal classroom. It was brightly and cheerily lit, with a whole wall made entirely of glass and plenty of hanging overhead lights for when the sun started to fade. One half of the room contained a jumble of small tables, with two chairs at each of them. On the other side there was a big circle of seats – it reminded Bakura of games they used to play at elementary school. A lot of the seats were filled already – there was Grandpa Hawkins and a few of the parents from orientation, and another trad guy Bakura didn't recognise...and, of course, there were the zombies. There was the little one, Rebecca, there was the girl with the ribbon in her faded lilac hair, there was...

Oh.

_("Bakura, you're __**late!**__"_

"_Aw, shut up, Ryou. What, aren't you happy to see me?"_

"_Of course I am, dummy. Just would've been nice to see you a bit __**sooner-**__")_

Those voices were from a long time ago now.

Today, there were no teasing greetings, no playful griping about punctuality. No smiles.

But Ryou was there, sitting quiet and pale next to the other dead kids, and Bakura was here too, and that was a _start, _at least.

It seemed that, now that the school group had arrived, they were ready to begin. They all joined the circle (Bakura ended up sandwiched between Marik and Yuugi, which he considered quite fortunate) while Rishid remained standing, still wearing his placating smile.

In a moment of stunning normalcy, they started with introductions. Bakura, along with every other living teenager in the room, squirmed unhappily when Rishid asked them to do that embarrassing and inevitably lame-sounding thing – introduce themselves one by one. Luckily he only asked for their names, and not any stupid extra details like their hobbies or favourite colour or what they wanted to be when they were all grown up. The process took a lot longer than it generally would, since some of the zombies had to make a concerted effort just to open their mouth and say their name. Rishid and Marik, clearly used to this, looked on patiently and didn't hurry them, while the rest of the trads fidgeted awkwardly, not quite sure how to deal with the lengthy, painful pauses.

Ryou was slow. But not as slow as Bakura would have expected. In fact, Bakura had still half-expected him not to speak at all. But he _did, _and when he spoke, even though it was just his name, Bakura felt a strange swell of emotion in his chest – some kind of combination of nostalgia, hope, sadness, guilt – because he knew that voice, that was the voice of his friend and-

"Lastly, we have a representative from a differently biotic community that has existed here in Domino since long before we came," Rishid said, interrupting his train of thought. He gestured to the dead boy who looked sort of like Yuugi. (Except he didn't _really _look like him – it was just that wacky hair. It was easy to group two people together when they shared a feature that distinct.)

"Yes. My name...is Atem," the boy said calmly. It struck Bakura as a little odd that he didn't give his family name (everyone else had) but he supposed it wasn't worth wondering about. "For a few...years now, I have led...a group of the dead...with nowhere else to go. But my...people are not...here today. They...no longer trust...the living. They do not...want to be part...of your world anymore. They simply...want to be left alone."

He spoke confidently and with very impressive inflection for a dead kid. He was slower than Malik and his speech hitched more often, but he seemed to be at peace with his undead condition rather than at constant battle with it – he seemed to be able to anticipate a hitch and would simply stop and allow himself a moment's pause to collect himself before continuing. It was a stark contrast to Malik, who got frustrated and tried to fight the occasional hitches in his speech and then tried to talk even faster as a bizarre type of compensation – which, in the end, only caused him to make more mistakes.

Atem just wasn't ashamed of what he was, Bakura supposed.

Which meant, he realised uneasily a moment later, that Malik _was._

"We respect that," Rishid was saying. "But they will always be welcome here if they change their minds."

"Thank you. If this...goes well, I hope that...they will come here...one day," Atem said with a slow but smooth nod. "We all...stay together and it feels...safe, but it...can get lonely for them. Our only visitor is...Mahaad."

He turned his head in the direction of the man Bakura had noticed earlier. He had dark skin and long, brown hair, and his face was serious but kind-looking.

"They put up with me despite my beating heart," he said with a small smile. "I also hope that at least some of them will join this class one day."

With that, it seemed that the group introductions were over. Rishid announced that the aim of the next few weeks was for everyone to get to know each other better, and that they'd start by assigning each of them a partner. Bakura stiffened in his seat – he knew what was coming now. He didn't even pretend to think that the twins hadn't stitched this up – the whole point of this exercise, from their point of view, was to get him to talk to Ryou, and he didn't think they were above dropping a word in their older brother's ear to that effect.

He took a few steadying breaths, trying to keep himself calm. It was ok. It was _Ryou. _He could handle that, right?

...What was he supposed to say to him?

He concluded drearily that, when you started wondering that about your best friend, that was when you knew you were in trouble.

The differently biotic outnumbered the trads in the room, and so it wasn't possible to have exclusively living-and-dead partnerships, which would probably have been preferable. Rishid and Mahaad (who seemed to be here in a supporting role) compromised as best they could – they partnered the dead kids from Domino High with some of the ones who stayed at the Centre in an effort to ensure that everyone would make a 'new friend'. The only exceptions to this rule were the people who were here to see an undead relative – they were quietly put into their family units and left to their uncertain reunions.

Bakura swallowed hard when Rishid's eyes landed on him. Time up. Ok, maybe he should fake sickness or something and buy himself a few moments of reprieve in the nearest bathroom, because he just wasn't quite ready yet-

"Marik, you go with Ryou. Bakura, you're with Malik."

Bakura blinked, wondering if he'd heard wrong. But no, Marik, sitting to his left, stood up and went over to Ryou (who seemed to be struggling a little with the standing up thing) before Bakura could utter a word. After a few moments, at a loss as to what else to do, he too got to his feet.

"Are you just going to stand there?" came Malik's caustic voice from nearby. Turning, Bakura saw him standing at one of the small tables, tapping his foot impatiently. All of the other pairs were settling down at a table each, so Bakura hurried over to the one that Malik had clearly selected.

Malik looked less than pleased with this partnership, but he didn't look surprised. It seemed that this was just another thing the twins had decided to keep to themselves.

"What gives?" Bakura asked as they sat down opposite each other.

"Hm. Well," Malik said tonelessly, twirling a strand of his blond hair around one finger. "A year's passed...and suddenly you've come grovelling. Is Ryou supposed to be grateful?"

"...He doesn't want to talk to me," Bakura translated as the pieces fell into place in his mind.

"He doesn't want to talk to you," Malik affirmed with a curt nod. "Can't say I blame him."

Bakura didn't bother retorting. It was hard to argue with that.

"Ok, so think of this as not-so-speedy speed-dating," Rishid said from the front of the room. "Ask each other questions, find out as much as you can. Next week we'll be putting you together with another pair to swap information, so do your best."

Bakura cringed mentally. This was going to be painful.

He glanced around the room at the other pairs who were tentatively falling into conversation. Yuugi was with Atem (Bakura was willing to bet that Rishid had felt that two people with hair that wacky just _had _to get to know each other), Anzu was with Miho, Rebecca was with her grandfather...

And Marik was with Ryou, of course.

"They...get along, you know," Malik said suddenly, following his line of vision. "It's kind of cute."

"...That's good," Bakura mumbled, tearing his eyes away. He supposed he should be glad that Ryou was talking to _someone _(even if it wasn't him) instead of holing himself up somewhere like Atem's 'people'.

"So. Questions," Malik said, looking thoroughly put-out at having to take part in something he clearly considered quite inane. "I'll go first."

"Go ahead," Bakura replied, injecting his words with as much 'you don't scare _me_' as he could.

"How did Ryou die?" Malik asked without delicacy or hesitation. Bakura dropped his eyes immediately, simmering to himself. Typical that Malik would aim straight for that painful subject, instead of asking a question about Bakura like he was supposed to.

"He hasn't told you?" he questioned.

"He told Marik it was a car crash," Malik replied without a trace of emotion. "That's not...exactly the full story."

"Isn't it?" Bakura said, narrowing his eyes. "What _else _do you want to know?"

"'A car crash' doesn't paint a very full picture," Malik said, settling back in his seat and folding his arms. "What was the...situation? Who was at fault? Was he off joyriding or...?"

"_Joyriding?_" Bakura repeated in an affronted splutter. "_Ryou_? Joyriding?"

"What? It's not like I know him well. Or at all, really." Malik's lips pursed into a brief, irritated grimace, though Bakura couldn't guess why.

"It wasn't his fault," Bakura said as fiercely as he could without raising his voice. "He didn't do anything wrong or stupid or...Don't even _think _that."

"Alright," Malik said dispassionately.

"...The investigation afterwards blamed the other drivers," Bakura muttered, letting his gaze drop back to the tabletop. "Couple of morons who thought it'd be smart to have a race in their souped-up cars. Since they both survived, I guess it was easy to pin the blame on them. And yeah, what they were doing was beyond stupid. But..."

"...But?" Malik questioned.

"Ryou's mom was driving their car." Bakura forced himself to continue. "She pulled out onto that road and the two idiots hit them, one after another. She...she should have seen them coming. Or _heard _them, even. She was careless."

"How...do you know that?" Malik asked him. His face was staggeringly neutral, but Bakura had learnt by now that this either meant he was feeling too much for him to take, or he was deliberately keeping whatever he was feeling hidden.

"Because I was there," he informed him bluntly. "I..."

He trailed off again. He hated talking about this. It brought back the blank-staring horror, the burning, acidic guilt. He could still hear the screeching tyres, see the cars' metal bodywork crumpling like paper, feel his throat aching and burning from his own screaming.

"You saw him die?"

Bakura jumped slightly, startled out of the memory by Malik's voice, which was oddly subdued. Glancing up, he noted that the dead boy's expression seemed a little softer than he'd seen it since Malik had found out about his and Ryou's situation.

"It...it was a Sunday. And it was so warm, and me and Ryou...we wanted to go to the beach." Bakura held Malik's gaze steadily, silently pleading with him to listen, pay attention, hear the whole story. If he wanted to know, he was going to know _everything_. "His mom said she'd give us a ride, but only if we took Ryou's little sister along. Amane. We didn't mind, we just gave her a bucket and spade and an ice cream and that shut her up the whole day. So...so then Ryou's mom came to pick us all up when it started to get late. She had their dinner in the oven and she was in a hurry...but she was still gonna drop me at my doorstep. I said that was dumb, she could just turn off the main road and let me out there and I could walk the last few blocks. So...that's what she did. I got out the car and they waved goodbye and...and..."

He figured Malik already knew what happened next.

"It could've been different," he said despondently. "It was the timing that was wrong. My timing. It was..."

"Hey," Malik interjected suddenly. "You...didn't tell his mom not to look both ways before pulling out onto a main road. You didn't tell those assholes to...race around like they were in a video game. It's...pointless to blame yourself."

Bakura blinked, surprised that Malik would say anything remotely consoling to him.

"Maybe it's pointless," he said with a stiff shrug. "But it's hard not to think that way."

Malik regarded him silently for a long moment.

"...Your turn to ask me a question," he said finally, looking away.

Bakura hesitated. He'd had his first question ready in his mind from the moment Malik had so carelessly asked his, but after the dead boy's abrupt change in attitude, he was suddenly reluctant to go through with it.

"I know what you want to ask," Malik spoke up, his mouth curving into a faint smile. "Go on, spit it out."

"...How did _you _die?" Bakura blurted out before he could think better of it. Malik snorted quietly, as if amused by how predictable he was.

"Got in the way of a truck," he replied easily.

Bakura stared at him. At his very intact and un-mangled body.

"No way," he said finally.

"Way."

"You are _bullshitting_."

"I don't...joke about how I died," Malik said, his tone becoming a little sharp. "Believe me."

Bakura raked his eyes over what he could see of him, desperately searching for some indication of a fatal injury. He'd heard of people looking fine on the outside and dying from internal damage (_like Ryou_), but...a _truck?_

Malik's expression was stern and challenging. He looked like he was daring him to argue. Bakura supposed he could do worse than trust him on this one.

"Ok," he said, putting his hands up in defeat. "Sorry. That sucks."

Malik visibly relaxed.

"There are worse ways to go," he said with a shrug.

"So are you going to give me the 'full story' behind it?" Bakura asked without much optimism.

"Of course not," Malik replied, smirk returning to his face. "That's a bit...personal, don't you think?"

"Right." Bakura rolled his eyes and decided not to even bother commenting on Malik's double-standards. "I guess that makes it your turn again, then."

"Hm..." Malik assumed a thoughtful expression, though Bakura suspected he had a whole list of questions pre-planned in his head. "Where's Ryou's family?"

"You really are just going to ask about Ryou, huh?" Bakura said bleakly. He wondered whether getting used to talking _about _Ryou would make eventually talking _to _Ryou any easier. "His...mom and sister died in the crash. His sister was too young to come back. And...his dad..."

He trailed off, frowning.

"What?" Malik pestered.

"I'm...not sure what the deal is with his dad," Bakura admitted uncomfortably. "I haven't seen him since the funeral. It's not like I've ever been back to their house or anything since then. I assume he's there..."

He felt doubt gnawing at his insides, though. He hadn't seen Ryou's father _at all _this past year. Surely he would have seen him in passing at least once, at the supermarket or something...?

"You think Ryou's been staying with his father all this time?" Malik asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well...I just assumed..." Bakura said uncertainly. "I mean, where else could he stay...?"

"...You know we don't sleep, right?" Malik said, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. "Or eat. Or go to the bathroom. Or even particularly need to shower. We don't get sick if we stay out too long in the cold or the rain. To us, somewhere to stay is really just...a comfort. A reminder that we're still human. But all the...amenities of a home...we don't physically need them anymore..."

"He hasn't been staying anywhere, has he?" Bakura said abruptly. He was surprised Malik would even bother breaking it to him that gently. "This past year, Ryou hasn't had a place to stay at all."

"...No," Malik confirmed. "That's why we brought him here straight away."

Bakura stared at the tabletop, feeling overwhelmingly sick. So what if zombies didn't get tired or hungry or sick? A year without a home was just...horrible. That was probably enough to make you regret coming back at all.

"Do you know of any of Ryou's family members that we could get in contact with?" Malik asked quietly.

Bakura shook his head numbly.

"No," he said, his voice faraway and distant to his own ears. "No, there's no one else."

"...Your turn to ask," Malik prompted him after a moment of ominous silence. Bakura forced himself to raise his eyes and looked at him dully.

"If you were Ryou, would you ever talk to me again?" he asked flatly.

"...Probably," Malik answered with a reluctant smile.

"Huh?" Bakura blinked in disbelief.

"What? You guys were really good friends, right?" Malik said almost defensively, looking away. "Seems a shame to throw that away just because you spent a year being a dipshit."

"You think?" Bakura questioned, the beginnings of amusement slowly starting to dispel the ache in his chest.

"I know," Malik said bluntly. "Though maximum effort on your part won't go wrong."

"Thanks?" Bakura said bemusedly. "I think?"

"Alright, everyone," Rishid called suddenly from the front of the room. "That's all for today. Thank you very much for coming, and we'll see you again on Monday."

Bakura stood up along with the rest of the trads and the visiting zombies. Malik remained seated, folding his arms and looking up at him.

"Think you'll be coming back?" he asked lightly. Except not lightly at all, underneath it all.

"...Sure," Bakura said with a snort. "Maximum effort, right?"

* * *

Marik watched the school students and family members leave. A few of them looked a little too relieved to be finished here. Bakura wasn't one of them, though. That was good.

"Looks like Malik and Bakura had fun," he remarked with a faint smirk. From where he was sitting, it had looked like his twin had been putting Bakura through the metaphorical wringer.

"...Yeah?" Ryou replied, his expression just a little _too _impassive. Marik eyed him curiously. Despite assuring Malik that it was simply a matter of wistful envy of his faster speech and movements, he couldn't help but also get the feeling that Ryou really did have some other problem with his brother.

"What's next on your agenda for today?" Marik asked, deciding not to ask about it just yet. After all, he'd just spent the last little while quizzing him about his less-than-pleasant experience of life after death thus far. That was probably enough for one day.

"...Physical...therapy," Ryou replied. He made a half-successful attempt at wrinkling his nose in distaste. "It's...difficult. And...doesn't...help."

"Hey, it can't hurt, right?" Marik chuckled as he got to his feet.

"I...suppose."

"They're sadists, I know," Marik said solemnly, offering him a hand and helping him to stand. "But it's best not to fight them. Just go along with their torture and it'll be over that much sooner."

Ryou's mouth quirked into its customary awkward smile. Marik bet he'd had an amazing smile when he'd been alive. He hoped he got it back soon.

Seeing that Rishid had fallen into deep discussion with Mahaad and Atem and that Malik had just plain disappeared from the room, Marik assumed he wasn't needed here any longer. He walked Ryou to the physical therapists' gym, talking about nothing in particular the whole way. He didn't offer to come in with him because he figured there wasn't much that was more humiliating than having someone watch while you struggled with basic exercises. Ryou managed a slightly pained expression as he was ushered inside, and Marik offered him the most encouraging grin he could muster just before the door closed.

"That's really very sweet," drawled a voice from behind him.

Marik narrowed his eyes – he didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Mind your own, Kaiba," he sneered, turning around to scowl at the brown-haired boy, who eyed him dispassionately. Rishid had mentioned that morning that Kaiba might be coming to honour them all with his presence today. Marik had forgotten.

"You're almost pathetic to watch," Seto said coolly, putting his hands in his pockets. "You act like some kind of hero for these kids. Especially that one. Funny that _he's _the one you picked to take a special shine to."

"I don't know what you mean," Marik growled lowly.

"He's still at the 'newlydead' stage, isn't he?" Seto said mildly, though his blue eyes were almost ferociously cold. "He's slow. Helpless. Abandoned by everyone close to him. Do you _really _think that helping him will make up for the way you treated your own brother-?"

"Shut _up_," Marik snarled, taking a threatening step forward. Kaiba appeared unmoved. He knew Marik wouldn't hit him – it would be too hard to explain to Malik later.

"I'm not like _you_," Marik spat. "I don't look after people out of pity."

"I don't bother with _pity_. It's really a very condescending sentiment," Seto said dryly. "I've just always had the sense to know that getting someone back from the dead is something to be valued."

"Sure," Marik snorted. "Because _guilt _has nothing to do with it."

Seto didn't respond to that – he merely raised an eyebrow. Marik closed the gap between them until they were mere inches apart and glared menacingly at the other teen.

"I won't forgive you," he said darkly. "I'll never forgive you for getting him killed."

"...Me?" Seto said blandly. His expression remained neutral but Marik had seen...something twinge in his ice-blue eyes. "Malik doesn't think it was my fault."

"I do," Marik said shortly, lip curling. "And I'm pretty sure you do, too. Deep down, you know it should have been you."

Seto glowered at him but seemed to have no reply. Marik smirked inwardly – it wasn't often that he could leave the young CEO speechless. It always felt like a small triumph when he managed it.

* * *

_**EEEEND 8D**_

_**Ah, deathshipping. Thy name has never been more appropriate.**_

_**Sorry this chapter took so awfully long Dx But you know, if you find yourself bored in between my very sporadic updates, you could always take a peek at my *livejournal*, where I like to post odd one-shots, silly doodles and the occasional rant about zombie biology 8D /shot for shameless plug/**_

_**Thank you very much to CocoaDance, RoseleafISHTAR, Deathly Hollow, StrawberryAshes, Elle-L, Goddess of the Black Moon, Annzy, Bec, tenchibaka, Astalavisbon, EdElricFan1001, Junki, Mio-chan's Return, earthluva, sakuraXdrops, Neiti Louhi, Strange Liou, budiamond, Rugged Individual, mystralwind, Holly-Sempai, Chigi Master, Swirly, Seren147, SHADOWoftheFOX, ZombieLover, Enjeru, XionItachi, xX..TwilightXx, kal277, AllenWalker4ever, xXMekkzyFwuffzXx, ParadoxalPansy, Callette, louloaxXD and JadeDragonHawk for your lovely reviews :D**_

_**And extra thanks to LadyBlackwell for beta-ing and to StrawberryAshes for reviving this chapter every time I came close to giving up xD**_

_**Oh, and thank you to everyone who suggested quotes and song lyrics ^^ Keep 'em coming~**_

_**Review?**_

_**Fiver x**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

'_**Death is just nature's way of telling you to slow down.' – **__**Dick Sharples**_

"_So. You're Yuugi," the dead boy said._

"_Uh-huh. And you're Atem, right?" Yuugi said with the brightest smile he could manage. He received a stiff nod in response. He wasn't sure whether he should interpret the curtness of the gesture as a sign of animosity or just...stiffness. Dead stiffness._

"_And why are you...here today, Yuugi?" Atem asked. Yuugi knew from his little speech earlier that Atem was very good at intonation, and that question had sounded decidedly cool. He started to suspect that Atem's undead condition had very little to do with his brusque manner. He let his smile fall away._

"_I'm here to learn," he said._

"_Learn...what, exactly?" Atem asked, leaning forward and slowly folding his arms so that he could lean them on the table._

"_...I don't know. Everything," Yuugi said, staring down at his hands. He got the feeling he was being sneered at or looked down upon. He wasn't sure why that would be, but he didn't like it at all. "I want to learn as much as I can about the, uh...differently biotic. Because if I understand something, it can't be scary, right? So I want to learn. Because being scared made me make a bad mistake. I don't want to make that same mistake ever again."_

"_I suppose your...'mistake'...was hurting...one of us?" Atem said. He appeared disapproving but unsurprised._

"_Hurting?" Yuugi repeated thoughtfully. "Um...yes. Yes, definitely. Not physically. I didn't attack anyone. But I ran away. He needed help and I didn't help him. Because I was scared. And that must have hurt him more than anything."_

"_Him?" Atem questioned._

"_My friend. He died."_

"_Is your...friend here today?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Then...isn't it time...to fix that mistake?"_

"_Can it be fixed?" Yuugi said with a sad half-smile. "I don't feel like I deserve his friendship anymore."_

"_Maybe...not," Atem said with a shrug. The motion was clearly well-practiced, to the point that it wasn't quite natural-looking. "But he...deserves an...apology."_

"_...You're right." Yuugi nodded to himself. "Yeah. I'll be sure to do that."_

"_As soon as you...stop feeling scared?" Atem said. He sounded bitter._

"_I can already see that you guys aren't really so scary," Yuugi said awkwardly. "I think maybe I've known that for a while now."_

"_The living are the ones who are frightening," Atem said quietly._

"_...Yeah," Yuugi mumbled. "I can definitely think of more scary living people than dead ones. Uh-!" His face went red. "I mean, differently biotic."_

_For the first time, Atem smiled a little._

"'_Differently...biotic' is a stupid term...for politicians...to argue over," he said. "You can...call us dead. We know...what we are."_

_Yuugi nodded, still looking mortified._

"_So, um..." he said after a moment. "Why are _you _here today?"_

_Atem didn't reply (or move) for a short time, which Yuugi assumed to mean he was surprised by the question._

"_I am here..." he said slowly, "to...teach. I suppose."_

_Yuugi's face broke into a wide grin._

"_We'll make a great team, then," he said._

* * *

_Anzu sat opposite the zombie girl she'd been partnered with, not really sure where to look or what to do. On the bus on the way here, she felt that Malik had lulled her into a false sense of security by being so fast and talkative and...normal. It had been so easy to forget that, actually, the overwhelming majority of zombie kids were like _this – _silent, staring and unresponsive. Anzu was at a loss._

"_I'm Anzu," she offered finally, trying to smile. The dead girl, with her faded lilac hair and peaked white face, didn't reply or move even an inch._

"_And you're Miho, right?" Anzu went on, desperate to fill the silence. "Miho Nosaka. Your name isn't familiar, and I don't recognise you from school. Have you always lived in Domino?"_

_She wasn't sure how appropriate her use of the word 'living' was, but it didn't seem to matter because she was still getting no response._

_Domino High was an enormous school situated in the centre of the city – an amalgamation of several smaller high schools which had either been under-attended or in such a state of disrepair that it had been more economical just to knock them down and start again. Anzu knew there were still a few outlying schools, though, in areas of Domino too far from the centre for a daily school bus run, and she scrambled to remember anything about them._

"_Could it be you went to that all-girls place...?" It was a private school. Very fancy. She'd competed against some of the girls in dance competitions._

_Still nothing from Miho. Her eyes seemed to be trained on the tabletop between them. Anzu let out a faint shriek when she felt something brush against her hand. Looking down, she saw it had been the tips of Miho's fingers. For the first time (that Anzu had seen), Miho moved, jerking her hand back clumsily._

"_No, no, sorry!" Anzu said. "Sorry, I just...didn't see you move."_

_After a long pause, Miho's hand crept across the table again, hesitant and painfully slow. Anzu held perfectly still for fear of startling her again. She couldn't help but jump, though, when Miho spoke._

"_Your...nails," she said. Her voice was like the rustle of dry paper, and her jaw opened and closed spasmodically as she tried to form words. "...P...pretty."_

_Anzu blinked and looked down at her fingernails. She'd forgotten all about the pale pink nail polish she'd applied the night before, and the tiny cerise flowers her mother had added._

"_Oh. Thank you," she said in surprise. "My mom did the tricky part, I'm not good at stuff like that..."_

_Miho managed a half-nod to show she'd heard._

"_...That's a pretty ribbon you have in your hair," Anzu said, looking at the strip of yellow silk holding Miho's ponytail in place. "I really like hair ribbons. It's a shame more people don't wear them, don't you think?"_

_Something very close to life sparked in Miho's eyes. Anzu smiled._

* * *

"That's way too much curry powder, idiot."

"Shut up, Malik," Bakura growled, emptying it into the pot anyway.

"You really suck at this."

"You do it, then!" Bakura snapped, throwing the recipe at him. It floated harmlessly to his feet.

"Sorry, I can't. I'm dead," Malik said with a cold smile. "It would be dangerous and unhygienic. Also I'd just slow you down."

"At this stage, I don't think that'd be possible," Marik chuckled, prising chunks of badly burned chicken off the inside of the wok.

It was the day after the Program's first official meeting, and their Cookery teacher, having been told that Ryou wouldn't be returning to her class any time soon, had instructed the three of them to work together. Because, as she had so delicately put it, she didn't want Malik and Bakura to fall behind on account of Malik being a zombie. Never mind that they'd managed fine every other day. Never mind that, out of the three of them, Malik was the only one with any clue what he was doing.

"Malik, stop sulking and help us out," Marik said. "This curry is turning into something that might require an exorcism."

"I don't think anyone could save that now," Malik said, shaking his head.

"Oh. In that case, let it burn," Marik said with a shrug, turning the gas up another notch. "Add the sauce, Bakura. Let's cremate the bastard."

Bakura didn't even crack a smile – if anything, he looked a little queasy. Marik frowned. Malik went over to the sink and started to wash up the many pots they'd dirtied, pretending not to listen.

"You alright?" Marik asked.

"Yeah," Bakura replied with an unconvincing shrug. "Just...cremations. I've been thinking about those."

"What about them?"

"Well," Bakura started uncertainly, "when someone dies...when a _kid _dies...no one knows if they'll come back, right?"

"Right."

"Or when they'll come back."

"There's a pretty flexible time window for returning, yeah."

"I think what Ba-ku-ra is trying very hard to ask," Malik interjected, "is whether...any zombies have been cremated."

"Oh," Marik said with a wince. He looked away.

"The answer is yes, obviously," Malik went on, keeping his back to them. "Well. It's more likely that they're cremated...before they have a chance to come back, unless they have the misfortune of returning...during their own funeral. But it must happen all the time."

Bakura was silent. He'd already worked this out for himself, of course, but hearing it confirmed was worse, somehow.

"Anyway, they're not the ones you should worry too much about," Malik said suddenly. "Once you're...burnt to ashes, that's it. Game over. The kids who are buried aren't so lucky."

Bakura felt his mouth go dry. Oh, God. Imagine that. Returning from death, opening your eyes, and finding yourself in a dark box under six feet of earth-

"No," he heard himself say in a strange, croaky voice. "No way, they can't do that."

"Sure they can." Malik shrugged. "No one wants them to come back. No one cares."

"Ryou came back the day before his funeral," Bakura mumbled as realisation smacked him over the head. "The _night _before. They had him suited up and everything..."

"He was lucky, then," Marik put in. "Be glad, yeah?"

"They should have to wait!" Bakura said furiously. "Someone out there must be able to work out the time limit for coming back. And...and everyone should have to wait at least that long before they put a kid in the ground-!"

He suddenly noticed that Malik was finally looking at him. Marik grinned and clapped him on the back.

"Now you're thinking like a zombie-lover," he said cheerfully. "Unfortunately, we beat you to that one."

"Huh?"

"What you said just now," Malik said. "It's already...a work in progress. The longest time on record that it took for a kid to come back is...nine days. We, and other...'pro-zombie groups' are getting the word out. Trying to make it standard practice to wait that long."

"One day it might _even _be a law," Marik said, rolling his eyes to make clear his opinion that this would only happen after they got through to some _very _stupid people. "But we're starting small."

Bakura snorted.

"You guys really think of everything," he remarked. It made him feel kind of small and stupid. The twins and their family were experts at this. They'd done their research, and they considered all the possible issues and implications that came with returning from death. He, on the other hand, hadn't even noticed that his best friend had been homeless for the past year.

Class ended with their shameful attempt at chicken curry going straight into the garbage and all three of them receiving a failing grade for their part in the monstrosity. Bakura was very aware of everyone's eyes on them as they left the room together, but he tried to ignore it. This was high school; word had long since spread about the twin transfer students – one alive, one dead – and the one friend they seemed to have made since arriving. Most people probably assumed that it was Marik that Bakura had befriended, and that the two of them just tolerated Malik with a kind of revolted pity, but even that was considered extreme in an environment where associating with someone who merely wore the wrong kind of shoes – never mind someone who was _dead_ – was likely to be hazardous to your health.

So far, the worst they'd been subjected to was whispering. Bakura suspected this lenience had something to do with the fact that Marik was pushing six feet in height and he wasn't far behind. But he knew that it was only a matter of time before some morons got together and decided it was time to reassert the natural social order.

After two uninspiring periods of Spanish and English, he and Marik had P.E. together. The teachers seemed determined to make the most of the last of the good weather and were making them do fitness training on the school's outdoor track. However, their class was so large that they needed to be split into two groups, meaning that half of them got to kick back on the grass while the others ran laps or completed some gruelling tasks that made your muscles burn just from watching.

Meanwhile, the few dead kids sat on a bench set apart from everyone else. They were technically supposed to report to study hall if they weren't participating, but no one cared whether the zombies showed up for class or not, and right now they seemed more inclined just to sit and enjoy the sunshine. As far as that was possible, anyway. They were all still in their everyday clothes, too. Bakura remembered that there had originally been talk of the zombies changing into gym clothes even if they weren't taking part, but no one would let them into the changing rooms and the idea had soon been dropped.

"Hey." Bakura nudged Marik's arm while their group was on a break and indicated to the dead kids – and more specifically, to Atem. "You know much about that guy?"

"Not an awful lot." Marik shrugged. He had his right leg stretched out in front of him, foot pointing skywards as he tried to work out a twinge in his calf muscle. "Why?"

"I dunno. He just seems...different from any of the others I've met. Thought maybe you'd know his story."

"I don't know everything. Atem's not a huge fan of anyone who's breathing, so he hasn't told us a whole lot," Marik said. "I know he only came to Domino after he died. He stayed in another city when he was alive, then when he got zombiefied, he made his way here, gathering other dead kids as he went. His 'people'. He thinks of himself as their leader, their protector. Kind of weird, if you ask me."

"King of the zombies, huh...?" Bakura said. Marik gave an undignified snort.

"I know what you mean, though. About him not being like the others," he said once he'd composed himself. "Malik acts as bitchy and defiant as they come, but even he really wants to be accepted. Atem just...I dunno. It's like he's given up on the living. I think he only agreed to come to the Centre to make sure we weren't secretly mistreating any of his 'people'."

"The kids he brought with him from out of town," Bakura said, "where are they?"

"Even we don't know," Marik said, shaking his head. "The only trad that knows is Mahaad, and he's sworn to secrecy. He's the only living person Atem half-way trusts, as far as I can see. They must go way back."

"Why is it such a big secret?" Bakura asked. "Don't they want your help?"

"Hmm. No one's come out and said it directly, but I think that all the kids that Atem looks after are...y'know. Unwanted zombies," Marik said. "No family, no friends, nowhere to go. I heard that some of them had been hunted down and abused before he found them. Others, death didn't leave them looking too pretty. It's like Atem said, they don't trust the living anymore. They just want to hide." His expression became grim. "And anyway, if people heard that there was a big group of zombies hiding out somewhere in the city, what do you think they'd do? If they won't let us protect them, it's probably better that they stay completely hidden."

"...It must be scary," Bakura said, shaking his head. "Being a zombie, I mean. Knowing that people hate you just for existing. And that any minute, some asshole could show up to blow your head off..."

"You're really starting to get this, aren't you?" Marik said with a smile.

"If I am, then it sure took me long enough."

"You need to stop beating yourself up," Marik laughed. "Malik does that enough for you."

"Yeah, well, he's right. Annoying as hell, but right."

"What did you two talk about yesterday?" Marik asked. "It looked like you both managed to keep it civil, at least."

"Don't pretend like you didn't swap notes last night," Bakura said, rolling his eyes.

"We didn't, actually. My dear zombie brother was being very...evasive," Marik said. "That's why I'm so interested."

"He kept asking me about Ryou," Bakura said with a scowl. "How he died, where his family is...he wouldn't shut up about it."

Marik just laughed.

"Should've known," he said. "Clearly he didn't trust me to ask Ryou the right questions. I did, though."

"...Oh," Bakura managed.

"You never said you were there when he died."

"What difference does it make?"

"Sort of traumatic, right?" Marik said, raising an eyebrow. "Seeing someone you care about die. Especially when it happens so fast and there's nothing you can do-"

"It doesn't excuse anything," Bakura snapped. "I'm pretty sure having to watch him die wasn't half as bad as _actually _dying and then coming back and then...y'know."

"Just because it was worse for him doesn't mean it wasn't bad for you too," Marik said. "And no one could expect you to act...rationally after something like that. That's what I think."

"Well, if you want to make excuses for me, I won't stop you," Bakura muttered.

There was a short silence.

"Did you ask Malik how he died?" Marik asked suddenly, eyes on the grass around their feet.

"Yeah."

"What did he tell you?"

"...He said he was hit by a truck," Bakura said, pulling a face as the poor likelihood of the story and Malik's indignant response when he hadn't believed him once again did battle in his mind.

Marik gave a start before chuckling wryly.

"Woah. I guess he likes you more than we thought," he said.

"Why do you say that?" Bakura asked dubiously.

"Because he told you the truth," Marik said.

Bakura stared.

"_Seriously?_" he said finally. Marik laughed again.

"Alright, not the _whole _truth," he amended just as they were called back to the track to take their turn at jumping hurdles. "He doesn't like you _that _much. Yet."

* * *

The weekend came and went like a fleeting dream, and then it was Monday and time for a second dose of zombie therapy.

Economics was proving to be Bakura's least favourite class from his generally uninspiring timetable, and his first instinct when the final bell rang was to grab his stuff and make a run for it, but he noticed that Malik was taking his time again and reluctantly followed suit.

"Are we going to do this every day that there's a meeting?" he asked once the room was empty except for himself, Malik and, again, Seto Kaiba. "People have noticed that we're..." He paused. That they were what? Friends? Not _quite_. "That we're in the same place at the same time a lot. Seems kind of pointless."

"You think so?" Malik said with a typically cutting glower. "It's a little...different at the end of the day, stupid. Maybe people have let you get away with being...seen with me. So far. But going to a zombie's...house? Spending your free time with one of us? They'd tear you apart. And me, too, because clearly I'm...acting above my station. Try thinking for once in your life."

Bakura, who had really only been trying to say that he didn't have a problem with being seen with a zombie anymore, silently narrowed his eyes in response to this onslaught. Malik sneered right back. It was such a perfect expression. Bakura wondered if it had been the first one Malik had re-learned after returning from death. Probably.

"I'll go ahead today," Malik said, shouldering his bag. "Are you coming, Seto?"

"Yes. For a while," Kaiba replied.

"In your chauffeured car, I suppose?"

"Of course."

"Can't have you mixing with the common horde."

"Certainly not."

"Jerk," Malik said, but he was smiling, and his voice lacked the waspish edge it tended to have when he was calling Bakura names. "Whatever, I'll see you there."

When he left the room, the ensuing silence was broken only by the echoing sound of his retreating footsteps. Bakura didn't much like being left alone with Kaiba. He liked it even less when Kaiba marched over to him, expression stony, and proceeded to loom over him like some kind of disapproving god.

"I'm only going to say this once," Seto said, very slowly and very coldly. "If you do anything – one _single thing – _to hurt him, I will personally see to it that your life is no longer worth living."

Bakura stared.

"What?" he managed eventually.

"I think you heard me," Kaiba said, stepping away from him and picking up his bag. He clearly felt his work was done as far as intimidating him went.

"Then maybe you could explain to me just what the fuck it has to do with you," Bakura growled, getting just annoyed enough to forget that this was Seto Kaiba he was talking to and one wrong word could cause him to die in a very nasty 'accident'. "You really expect me to believe that an asshole like you just has a soft-spot for dead kids? It's not zombies you give a shit about, it's _him."_

"And what does _that _have to do with you?" Seto threw back at him.

"You're the one who's threatening me," Bakura said. "Dick move, by the way."

Seto just scoffed at that. Bakura supposed that the idea of a run-of-the-mill high school student threatening the six-foot-something CEO of Kaiba Corp probably was pretty funny. But Seto was wrong if he thought his position and status would stop Bakura from breaking his nose if he kept being such an asshole.

"My reasons are none of your business," Seto said. He picked up his bag and went to the door. "All you need to know is what I already said: cause any trouble for Malik Ishtar, and you just might find out if you're one of the lucky few who'd come back from the dead."

Bakura had heard more imaginative threats from the gang members he occasionally crossed paths with thanks to his association with Ushio and Jounouchi. Still, this one managed to get its point across. He scowled, fuming, at Kaiba's calmly retreating back as he left the room and headed right. His private car came to pick him up from the teachers' private car park out back. Because Seto Kaiba was special and did whatever he damn well pleased. And he'd taken Malik under his very influential wing, apparently.

Bakura shook his head irritably and grabbed his own bag before stalking off in the same direction Malik had gone. He glared at the scuffed floor as he went, only looking up and snapping out of his sulk when he heard voices echoing down the hall. Kids going to clubs, he supposed. Everyone else had cut and run by this time.

Of course, he had a bad feeling in his gut and if he was perfectly honest with himself, he already knew it was nothing so simple and harmless.

He rounded the next corner and caught sight of his three...alright, no, not his three friends. Jounouchi, Honda and Ushio. He was officially giving up on considering them his friends. And maybe a contributing factor to that decision was the fact that Malik was there too – backed up against the row of lockers and looking pretty much penned in by the other three. Words were being exchanged and none of them sounded awfully friendly. Malik looked calm – disdainful, even – but...well. He _was _a zombie. He could be shitting-his-pants-terrified and none of them would ever know about it.

"What are you doing?" Bakura found himself asking, even though their plan was painfully transparent. Honda and Jounouchi jumped and spun around at his voice, looking startled and guilty for a moment. Ushio just raised a bushy eyebrow in his direction.

"They're on their way to...after-school detention," Malik said with his best smile. "Like...good little delinquents."

"Shut up," Ushio grunted, shoving him backwards so that he rattled the lockers behind him.

"No, I mean, what are you _doing_?" Bakura repeated, gesturing to Malik, who seemed unhurt but was looking up at Ushio with such a poisonous look in his glass-like eyes that even that biceps-for-brains looked a little uneasy.

"Relax, Bakura," Jounouchi said with a short laugh. "He's a zombie."

"Yeah, I'm aware," Bakura replied. The sharpness of his tone earned him a puzzled glance, but Jounouchi ploughed on regardless.

"So, he's been creeping people out. Getting a little bit too life-like, y'know? Trying to be a real boy." Jounouchi paused just long enough to pull what looked like a very small screwdriver out of a concealed pocket inside his jacket. "We figured we'd rearrange his face a little. That way, he can't fake it anymore."

"You morons," Bakura said, shaking his head in disbelief. "They can't _heal. _Cut him and it's there forever."

"...Yeah, that's sort of the point," Jounouchi said, looking at him as if he was the one being both twisted and obtuse.

"Touch me and I'll bite you," Malik said. Jounouchi and Honda flinched away from him, looking alarmed, but quickly collected themselves.

"Shut up, that's only in the movies," Jounouchi said angrily.

"Want to find out?" Malik asked with narrowed eyes.

Jounouchi's lip curled back in a snarl and he made a lunge with his make-shift weapon. Bakura shoulder-barged him just in time before grabbing hold of his wrist to stop him trying it again.

"This is sick," he said as all three of them stared at him with the sort of horror that would suggest that _he _was the one who'd just tried to stab a kid in the face. "This is fucked up."

"What's with you?" Jounouchi snapped, wrenching his arm free.

"He's friends with the dead-meat's brother," Ushio rumbled, startling them all. It perturbed Bakura more than he'd like to admit that Ushio knew that – had _noticed _that. Maybe his skull wasn't solid bone all the way through after all. The idea wasn't appealing.

He knew that this was the moment where he was supposed to _really _shock them by announcing that, actually, he was friends with the dead-meat too, and the proper term was 'differently biotic', thank you very much.

He didn't, though. Instead, Malik was the next to speak.

"Run...along, now," he said. Bakura hoped he was the only one who noticed his hitching speech and knew it meant he was, at the very least, nervous. "You wouldn't want to be...late for detention."

All three of them scowled at him but started to shuffle away – they clearly hadn't anticipated being interrupted and didn't seem eager to go through Bakura to get to their original target. Not yet, anyway. Once they got the memo about them officially not being on the same side anymore, they'd probably have no qualms about carving up his face too.

"You watch yourself," Jounouchi muttered as they went. Bakura wasn't sure if he meant him or Malik but he didn't care enough to ask.

When they were finally gone, Bakura released a breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding in. He suspected Malik would be doing the same if he needed to breathe.

"What lovely company you keep," Malik said blandly. Bakura snorted.

"Yeah, well, I don't think I'll be inviting them to my next birthday party, if you get my drift," he said.

Malik didn't reply, but Bakura thought he saw him smile. Almost.

They walked along the corridor together, which made leaving the classroom at different times somewhat redundant, but Bakura suspected that their cover was pretty much blown anyway. Three guys – two of whom were _loudmouths – _had watched him step between them and a dead kid. Word would travel pretty fast.

"Listen," Malik said just as they were approaching the exit. "Not a word about that to Marik, got it? Or...well, anyone. But especially Marik."

"...Why?" Bakura asked. "Seems like the kind of thing he'd want to know about."

"Exactly," Malik said. "So don't tell him."

"You're sure?" Bakura said uncertainly. If _he _had a very protective, six foot tall brother, he'd be the first person he'd tell about having a bunch of delinquents out for his blood.

"Yes, I'm extremely sure," Malik said. He stopped Bakura with a hand on his shoulder and made him face him. "I'm serious. Swear you won't tell him."

"Alright, alright," Bakura said, putting his hands up. "I get it. I won't tell him."

Malik studied him for a long moment before nodding and continuing on his way.

When they stepped outside, Marik was sitting on the stone steps with a pair of headphones jammed in his ears. Malik kicked him lightly and he jumped to his feet.

"What the hell happened to you two?" he asked. "Everyone's on the bus, you guys are holding up the whole world."

"Don't be so insensitive," Bakura said very seriously. "Zombies need to take things slow. I wasn't going to rush him."

Malik thumped him on the arm. Bizarrely, Bakura thought it was the friendliest gesture he'd made towards him so far.

Which was a shame, really. It probably meant they were making _progress. _But since Bakura had absolutely no intention of keeping the target on Malik's back a secret from Marik, it seemed unlikely that their camaraderie would last very long.

* * *

_**End!**_

_**Ahahahahaha that took a while :'D**_

_**Yeah, I'm sorry xD But thank you to everyone who left me nice reviews this past…uh, year. **_

_**I've been advised to cover my back and say that this story features ~Season Zero Jounouchi~. Or, y'know, just pre-Yuugi Jounouchi. Though, he's not even the most OOC one here, so…xD**_

_**Whoever's still reading, I hope you enjoyed!**_

_**Fiver x**_


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